#maybe i'll write something on these pairings now

[lovesickhughes]

hole in one | luke hughes

SUMMARY: when luke stumbles into your work, playing a round of golf with his friends, asking you out isn’t the only par he’s hitting

pairings: luke hughes x fem!reader | warnings: noneeee | wordcount: 2.6k

author's note: she has risen! sorry for the long note, but oh my gosh, you guys i am so sorry for falling off the face of the earth and not posting for what was almost TWO MONTHS (trust me it ate me alive). life got so busy for me, with work and social plans that i didn’t have the energy nor time to sit down and write, and for a while i really struggled with inspiration. my two fav girls hallie @lilhughesy & isa @isaadore are such amazing ppl that inspire me everyday and are so supportive of me and my writing, i don’t think i would have been able to write something without them. i am fortunate enough to have gathered enough of my creativity to put together this fic, and i find it so cutesy and adorable, i hope you guys love it, pls validate me, ok love you bye

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

You were busy— or so you would like to think— when you heard the mdoor open, feeling the rush of warm, humid summer heat pass through, and when you looked up to greet the next round of golfers, one immediately caught your attention.

He was tall, had messy curly hair that was restrained by the hat on his head and he wore a white polo shirt, along with khaki shorts and a white pair of golf shoes.

His clubs were slung over his shoulder, his arm securing the weight with a hold on the strap, while he tilted his head to see under the brim of his hat as he walked up to your desk.

You were used to welcoming in a fair share of your stereotypical golfers, prominent tan lines, rich laughs– the whole ordeal that came alongside working at a private golf course, but something about the tall brunette that had walked in intrigued you.

A member of his group approached you, reading out their tee time and name along with the number of golfers in the group, and you gave the group a run down of the rules and instructions. And while doing so, you couldn't help but feel the certain someone's gaze lingering as you spoke.

"And as usual, there's a number on the golf cart to call us up front if you need any help hitting anything under par," You joked, effortlessly hitting your go-to one-liner that caused a chain reaction of boisterous laughs from older groups of men.

The group laughed and thanked you, accepting the rental keys to the carts before escorting each other to the depot to begin their round.

While you reached for your water to quench your drying throat, you noticed one member hadn't followed his group out, that just so happened to be the tall brunette that caught your attention– and immediately your brows furrow in concern.

"Is there anything I can help you with?" You asked politely, smiling brightly and letting your customer service persona guide you through the conversation.

He shook his head, "Oh no, sorry, I was just wondering if you had any extra tees I could snag off you, I left mine at home." He questioned, shifting weight nervously between his feet.

You nodded eagerly, "Of course! Yeah! Here," You say, reaching for the extra bags of tees, put together for easy accessibility to the golfers and handing him the bag– your attention being sent to the brush of your fingers against his own.

"Great, thanks..." The brunette paused, his eyes now searching yours.

Your smile grew wider, flustered by his unexpected gesture.

"Y/n."

"Thanks, Y/n. Maybe I'll see you around." He thanked, walking backward before exiting through the doors to catch up with the others in his group.

You awkwardly nod and wave goodbye, confused by his antics, but nonetheless continue to work away, every so often watching the time pass by— knowing soon enough that the same brunette would be back in no time.

To your luck, the rest of your shift passed quickly and smoothly, with no crazy obstacles appearing along the way, and an efficient closing up for the night.

But as the clock further spun, you began to realize you hadn't come across the unknown brunette from before, a sinking feeling growing in your stomach in disappointment.

You knew you had gotten in your own head and created this idea that he would magically reappear, but as you watched the clock soon approach the hour that the country club would close, the realization had sunk in that the encounter you had hours ago, was a mere glimpse of what could have been.

As you turn to head to the staff room to collect your belongings, you hear the door rattle as it usually does when someone pulls on the handle to open it. Turning your head, ready to relay the same information to the last round of golfers that tried to come in for dinner after their eighteen holes, but to your surprise, it was only one golfer– the one and only golfer you had wished to see. 

"Hey, Y/n, right?" He called out, chest heaving as if he had just come running to the building. The air had gotten caught in your throat when your eyes met the familiar brown ones of the unknown golfer from hours ago.

You turned your body fully to face him, hands resting on your hips. "Yeah, how can I help?" You asked skeptically, eyes squinting in confusion.

The brunette stood taller in his stance, rolling his shoulders back as if he were preparing himself, "Oh, I just wanted to catch you before we both left, I uh– wanted to know if I could get your number, and maybe take you out sometime." He smiled awkwardly, his cheeks flushing with pink as he chewed on his bottom lip and fumbled with his own fingers.

A smile grew on your face and the spin that your stomach did at the question didn't go unnoticed.

You walk towards him, pulling out your phone and handing it to him with the contacts app open, "Sure, yeah. Here you go." You offer and you watch him nervously type in his number and name before handing it back to you, the once nervous smile now fading into a confident grin.

"I gotta get going, the boys are gonna wonder where I went. I'll text you, 'kay?" He said as he slowly walked backwards towards the entrance, and you couldn't help the grin on your face from spreading farther as his eyes never left yours.

"Sounds good," You paused, glancing down at your phone that's screen displayed his name for you to call, "Luke. I'll see you around." You smiled, letting out a breath of relief after successfully opening an opportunity for you to get to know the once mysterious man.

You proceed to grab your things from the staff room and head out for the night, making sure to text the new number in your phone with your name and a smiley face beside it.

。·:*:･ﾟ✧,。·:*:･ﾟ✧

It didn't take long for your phone to chime with a notification from Luke. It was the next day when he had texted you asking when you were free next, mentioning how he would be in town for a couple more weeks before flying back out to New Jersey where he currently lived.

You couldn't help but feel your cheeks ache from smiling so hard at the messages being exchanged, and soon enough, it was agreed upon by each of you that he would pick you up Friday evening and take you to the local driving range.

You took in your appearance one last time in the mirror before checking your phone to see the text that he had arrived, your feet carrying you eagerly down the stairs to your front door. 

The knock on the door echoed through your quiet living room, and you waited a few moments before unlocking the door and slowly swinging it open to reveal the man you couldn't wait to see.

"Hey, how's it going?" He said politely, hands in his pocket as he swayed on his feet.

"I'm good– I'm excited. I haven't been to the range all summer because of work." You smiled, stepping outside and closing the door behind you.

"Well hopefully you don't have your work cut out for you," He chuckled his hand coming up behind you to the small of your back as he guided you towards his jeep that was parked on the side of the road.

"Is that a challenge?" You quipped, raising an eyebrow at his comment, only to see Luke shrug in response as he walked around to the driver's side of his vehicle.

He unlocked his car, swiftly opened the trunk where his clubs were laid, and followed you to the side of your house, insisting to carry your clubs with ease, much to your protest.

Soon enough the two of you were on your way to the driving range with the windows rolled down and music playing through the speakers at a comfortable volume.

When you got to the driving range, it was another playful argument over who would carry your clubs for you, and yet again, you were left following behind him, empty-handed with your arms crossed over your chest in dismay.

He gracefully asked for two buckets of golf balls, letting you carry those for your own peace of mind, and guided you to the last two open slots of the range.

Setting up, you both got ready to swing, adjusting your stances and leveraging your golf balls far out into the field.

That went on for a few minutes, before you each paused to grab some water– the warm summer heat adding to the exercise.

"So, when did you decide you were gonna ask for my number?" You asked as you sat next to him on the bench, taking a sip from your water bottle.

Luke chuckled, glancing down to his lap before meeting your eyes. "As soon as we walked in that day." He answered shyly.

Your eyebrows raised in surprise, "Really? And it took you a whole five hours and eighteen holes of golf to actually do it?" You asked through a laugh, nudging his side playfully.

His eyes squinted, "Hey, I can't help it, we had a tee time to get to, and plus, I didn't know how you would respond, so I needed time to think it through." He reasoned.

“Well I’m glad you thought it through,” You said as you nodded your head, understanding, before standing up and taking your driver to the slot of fake grass, placing the tee into the mat and adjusting your stance to prepare to swing.

Luke cleared his throat, quickly standing up after you and walking towards you, "Woah, here let me help you with your form." He offered, hands reaching out to you. You stood up straight from your leaned over position, brows furrowing teasingly.

"What, are you saying that I have bad form? I work at a golf course for crying out loud." You joked, letting out a laugh.

Luke's eyes widened, quickly shaking his head, "No, no, no. You have great form– perfect actually." He stuttered. "Let me just help a tiny bit."

You nodded, going back to your previous position. Luke walked up behind you, his tall figure hovering over you, making you feel small against him. Heat grew to your cheeks when you felt his arms slide over your own, lightly gripping at your wrists to adjust your grip, the feeling of his back against your own not going unnoticed.

Your breath was caught in your throat as he softly mumbled corrections into your ear, telling you to slightly shift your weight, followed by a "there you go."

"'Kay, now try that." He prompted, stepping back to allow you to swing, and when the club came in contact with the tiny white golfball, the sound that echoed through the driving range was enough to have heads turned, watching the ball soar far into the field.

You couldn't believe it, it had to have been your best shot ever in the time you had been golfing. In disbelief, your head shot back to where Luke stood, a wide grin on his face at the outcome.

"Did you just see that? That was the farthest I've ever hit!" You exclaimed, jumping up in excitement, rushing over to Luke and engulfing him in a hug.

His hands came to wrap around your waist, hugging you tight for your accomplishment, before delicately pulling you away from him to meet your eyes.

"See? I didn't think you had bad form, just needed the Luke touch to make it ten times better." He smirked teasingly, making your eyes roll. You couldn't help but feel the sensation light through you at the feeling of his hands resting on your waist, and being so close to him, it was as if you were pulled into this trance of pure bliss.

Blinking, you were pulled back to reality, smiling widely at your own achievement before reaching a hand over your head to high five him.

The night went on for a while longer, getting a few more practice swings in before your buckets were empty and you both were ready to call it a day.

When you got into the jeep, the sun was just setting, leaving the sky a glowing orange and yellow colour, catching your attention.

"Look at the sky, ugh– it's so beautiful." You compliment, staring out the window of Luke's jeep.

You turn back to Luke, who's already watching you, a soft smile written on his face. "If you want, I could take us down to the dock by my cottage and we could just hang out there for a bit," He offered. A smile grew on your face, and without a doubt, you nodded your head.

When you pulled up to the dock, the sky had transformed into an even more beautiful sight than before. Luke and you both hopped out of his jeep, Luke's long legs carrying him around the front to your side, holding out his hand for you to intertwine with as you walked down to the end of the dock.

Sitting on the wood planks, you sit shoulder to shoulder in silence as you both took in the view.

Luke turned his head to look at you, unbeknownst to you who admired the colours of the sky, while he took in your beauty.

Feeling his gaze on you, you turned to him and chuckled nervously, "What are you looking at?" You asked softly, the sounds of the water and nature echoing across the expanse of the lake.

He shrugged, "Just how perfect you look right now," Earning a roll of your eyes, feeling the heat fill your cheeks. "I'm glad you said yes to going out with me."

"I'm glad too," You replied, giggling at how intimate the moment had become.

"Yeah?" Luke teased, reaching a hand to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

You hummed, your eyes never leaving his, letting him tuck the hair behind your ear, your chest heavily rising in anticipation. "You gonna seal the deal with a kiss?" You asked through a breath, your faces now only inches apart from one another.

Luke tilted his head, "That depends, you gonna kiss me back?" He teased, his hand now sliding to cup the side of your face, pulling you closer to his lips.

When you nodded your head, it was in an instance that his lips were on yours. At first it was a sweet, soft kiss, but when your hand reached to the nape of his neck where his curls laid, he deepened the kiss, letting out a sigh of pleasure, slipping his tongue into your mouth.

Time moved slowly as you both shared the kiss, feeling as if the world slipped away between you both.And when you pulled away, you both couldn't help the flustered laughs that fell off your tongues.

Luke leaned back onto his arms, running a quick hand through his hair, his cheeks now a dark pink and lips swollen. He let out a breath through his mouth, "Man, I didn't even go golfing today and I scored a hole in one." He said sheepishly through a chuckle, earning your head to fall back in laughter and smacking his chest.

"You're so cheesy, oh my." You laughed.

"You like it," He protested, giving you a look and your lips formed into a fine line, contemplating your response.

You sigh, rolling your eyes again, "I hate that you're right-- I love it."

Luke let out a loud laugh, pulling you into a tight hug and leaving a kiss on your forehead.

Needless to say, you were glad he scored that hole in one.  

[emskryptonite]

Favorite Reporter

a/n: i've had this idea for a few days now and figured i might as well just go ahead and put it out there! in my head this is david's clark, but the profile pic is tom's clark bc he's my fav, and either way it can be whichever version of him you want hahaha happy reading!! (also i swear I'll get my masterlists up soon!! I've just been busy) - Emmy ❤️

Summary: Clark Kent gets to interview a world-famous singer, but his questions reveal a bit more than fans thought they'd ever get.

Pairing(s): Clark Kent x famous!singer!fem!reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Content/Warnings: not much that i can think of, not proofread (who's surprised), fluffy, reader is described as feminine but only once or twice, people jumping to conclusions??, idk if i missed something lmk!!

Masterlist | Clark Kent/Superman Masterlist

“There’s the superstar,” the man says as he’s given the cue that the cameras are rolling. “Thank you for agreeing to do this interview. I know it’s a bit different from how the Planet usually does things.”

“Well, I think it’s a fun change. Besides, I’d do anything for my favorite journalist, Mr. Kent,” you reply.

“It’s hardly fair to pick favorites.” He gives you a schoolboy grin, one that’s all too irresistible.

“When other reporters start treating me as kindly as you, maybe then I’ll play fair.” You match his tone, giving him a sickly sweet smile in return. He really is your favorite, and you don’t see a point in lying about that.

“I’m gonna get right into things if that’s alright with you,” he changes the topic, raising a brow and trying his best to hide the blush creeping up his neck.

“Go right ahead, Mr. Kent.”

“I’d like to start with your latest album. If I recall correctly, there was quite the uproar as you were releasing the track titles. Was there not?”

“There was! I’ve been known for writing breakup songs for quite a while now, so when the track titles sounded like love songs, I think it weirded out the fans a bit. Some of them were freaking out, thinking I’d been tied down. Others were theorizing, swearing it was some kind of deep fake, plot twist situation.”

“So, what inspired the genre change, a new muse perhaps?” He leaned forward the slightest bit, narrowing his eyes. Saying he was interested to hear your answer would be an understatement, even if it is more for personal interest than reporting sake.

Failing to stifle a smile, you cross your legs, getting more comfortable in your seat. “Something like that. I guess I just wanted to prove I could do more than angsty breakups. I can do all of the sweet, mushy stuff, too, and I suppose there was a part of me that wanted to show the world that I’m capable of more.”

“Well, I think you’ve done just that. You accomplished a lot with the writing, but also with the feel of the album. Speaking of the writing, it feels different compared to past albums, aside from just the topic. Was there a change in technique or maybe some new inspiration, style-wise?” He takes a moment to push his glasses up his nose, and you can’t help but take notice of just how unfairly attractive it is.

“Yeah! I’ve always been inspired by the artists I grew up listening to, but I wanted this album to really stand out. So, I also took some inspiration from newer or younger artists. I mean, I’ve always admired Taylor Swift for her way with words, so I took the time and worked on my wording, tried to be more descriptive. Sabrina Carpenter is a newer artist that I’ve loved to watch grow, and it’s difficult not to admire how adorably scandalous she can be. I think that’s definitely prominent in one or two of the songs from the new album. So, yeah, in short, I’ve expanded my style in multiple ways, and there are plenty of artists I was inspired by!”

“Speaking of scandalous, I think you surprised a lot of fans with Track Seven. Was there something, or someone, in particular that inspired the mood shift?” His face is beet red, and it makes you grin like the Cheshire Cat.

“Yeah, I mean, honestly, with certain lines from some of my previous songs, I think people have kinda been waiting for a song like that from me for a while now. It’s probably not exactly what they expected either, but you know, everyone deserves to feel sexy every once in a while. At the end of the day, that’s what Track Seven is really about, innuendos aside.”

“Clearing his throat, he moves the interview along, “Well said. Now, I know you’re focus is most likely on this album, but I have to ask about any future plans you might have. Maybe a tour? Or, if we’re lucky enough, a sister album?”

“Well, unfortunately, there’s no sister album,” you both share a laugh, “but the idea of a tour has been tossed around. There are no official plans yet, but we’re certainly not against it.”

“Also concerning future projects, sort of, you have a music video premiering just a few hours after this interview will be posted. What can fans expect?”

“Ooh! I like this question! For starters, the video is the first single of the album, Track Eleven, and I really just wanted to make viewers feel how I felt while writing that song. So, I guess you could expect the whimsy, love-struck feel of the song to shine through.”

“I can’t wait to watch it, then,” he gives you another one of those boyish grins, and you can’t help but flush.

“I certainly hope you enjoy it, Mr. Kent.”

“I have no doubt that I will. Now, I’m sure you know I have more, uh, gossipy questions for you.”

“Hit me with your best shot.” You already know exactly what’s coming.

“With the topic of your album, people have been speculating about your love life even more than usual. On top of the album, I believe in a recent Instagram post of yours, there was a shiny ring on a pretty important finger. Is there any truth to these rumors, or are they nothing more than speculation?”

Again, you can’t fight the grin on your face, and subconsciously, your right hand moves to play with the ring that should be on your left ring finger. “No, their detective skills are quite on par with this one. Just about a month and a half ago, I got married.”

The reporter’s cheeks blaze once more. “Is there anything you’d like to share about him? He sounds pretty lucky to have landed someone like you.”

“I think I’m the lucky one, Mr. Kent,” you can’t hide the twinkle in your eyes. “He’s the most selfless and generous man I’ve ever met. I don’t know what I’d do without him.” You’re beaming, glowing even, and Clark wants to commit the sight to memory.

“Was the outing of your marriage pre-discussed, or is he getting thrown under the bus here?” He takes a teasing tone once more, his confidence returning a bit.

“Oh, I’m totally throwing him under the bus. Honestly, I didn’t think you’d ask about it. You’re usually one to stay away from tabloid gossip and fan rumors, Mr. Kent.”

“Color me curious,” he shrugs. The producer signals that your time is almost up from off-screen, so Clark begins to wrap things up, “Alright, well, our time is coming to an end, so I’ll go ahead with the last question if that’s alright with you.”

“Ask away.”

“With these on-camera interviews, the Daily Planet likes to give the interviewee a chance to become the interviewer. So, is there anything you’d like to ask me?”

You don’t hesitate. “Just once thing, Mr. Kent,” you start with a wicked grin, ��How long is the Planet gonna let my husband interview me?”

“Well, I’d say until you stop giving him exclusive answers, Mrs. Kent, or until that camera stops rolling.”

“Like I said before, anything for my favorite reporter.”

Taglist: @heartsforjh @nic0-hischier @alexxavicry @cosmixstar

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~ Emmy

[loganficsonly]

an independent woman ☘ 9 (end)

˚₊‧⁺˖✮ ch 9: epilogue ✮ ˖⁺‧₊˚

masterlist

worst!logan x fem!reader, 2.1k

SUMMARY: As Logan learns to live instead of survive, he finds himself in the extremely dangerous position of sharing an apartment with you—Wade's friend. Extremely dangerous because Lord knows he can't keep his feelings a secret forever... not when your room is five steps away from his.

SERIES WARNINGS/TAGS: english is not my native language, no use of y/n, reader is a working adult (mid-late 20s) with a slightly written out personality, friends to roommates to lovers, slow burn, secret crushes, mentions of alcoholism and AA

CHAPTER WARNINGS/TAGS: logan is a lover boy, nudity and implied sex

AUTHOR’S NOTE: i'm a sap so i've started reflecting on this series and the experience of writing it lol maybe i'll post that sometime. thank you SO MUCH to everyone that's supported this fic i love you <3

also i think it's freaky how my other fic the cure really fits into this series, i'm treating it as a side story lol

“Looks like things are going well,” Laura hums. 

Logan looks over at her as he sips on a canned cola.

The afternoon sun rays hit the bench they’re sitting on, a little bit too warm, almost blinding. Cicadas buzz in the background, and the faint smell of elm permeates in the air. They can hear a bunch of kids somewhere, their shrill laughter floating above a game of soccer. Regular consequences of hanging out at Tompkins Square Park in mid-July.

But neither father nor daughter move. Fugitives like them have kept to the edges of the world far too long to take moments like these for granted. Sunshine. Air. 

Peace.

“What do you mean?” 

The younger woman rolls her eyes at him. Universal code for ‘quit the bullshit’.

“Come on. You and her.” 

She tilts her chin over in your direction.

You and Wade are playing catch with Mary Puppins in a field of grass in the distance. From where Logan is, the dog looks like a matted hopping rain cloud. Vanessa hovers nearby, filming the moment on her phone.

It was Wade’s idea to come here. Something about wanting to heal his inner child by having a day out with his family. You quickly got excited at the plan, and Logan liked it when you smiled, so he didn’t say no. 

He finds the sight of you distracting. How you’re dressed casually in a top and a pair of shorts that look like they’re made of a material so soft and worn, cooing over Dogpool as she brings you back the battered tennis ball.

It’s the sun’s fault. The light outlines your skin like a halo. You look like you’re glowing.

“What about it?” he replies, peeling his eyes away from you and back to Laura. His tone isn’t avoidant. If anything, he almost sounds playful. Like a dare. 

Laura lets out a snort. 

“Please, it’s pretty damn obvious. You look a decade younger these days.”

Logan smirks. “Just one?” 

“Cracking jokes like that? Two.” 

She perches her elbows on top of her knees, leaning forward in her seat.

“She’s good for you.”

Logan doesn’t answer, but his mind responds almost instantaneously, projecting images of private moments of you and him in the apartment that is now his sanctuary. Slideshow after slideshow of collected memories.

That time you kiss the inside of his wrist after he fixes a loose valve under the kitchen sink, a soft and wordless ‘thank you’. Your legs draped across his lap, shifting a little as you laugh at something inane on TV. Whispers of his name beneath the covers, skin against skin, your fingers bringing him closer, always on him somewhere like you can’t stand being apart—his hair, his shoulders, his arms…

Like a wishing well in the woods, you gave him something deep and lasting and magical.

Drinking from it has made him even thirstier.   

Laura looks over at him, catching the way his gaze softens. There’s that faraway look, one that tells her he’s not quite sure how he got to be here. He thinks nobody notices.

You think you’re slick, too, but Laura sees how you no longer protest when Logan gets your bag or umbrella when you walk into a room. How you barely put up a fight when Wade banned you from washing dishes at his place. The change is subtle, gradual, but enough to pick up between gatherings.

Like you’re learning the language of being, without explaining why you have the right to. 

As someone who got banished to the Void, of course Laura sees it. 

The silence settles. Logan is the first to speak.

“Yeah. She is.”

Laura blinks, head turning to see him. He’s still looking at you.

“Don’t fuck it up,” she smiles goodnaturedly.

He huffs, hiding his face behind the rim of his drink.

“I won’t.”

You and Wade are fussing over Mary Puppins. He’s patting her butt while you scratch behind her ears, as if the dog ordered a full-service massage.

“Sooo, when were you gonna tell me?”

You resist the knee-jerk impulse to freeze. That sing-song voice means trouble.

“Tell you what?” you feign ignorance.

“That you and Logan are a thing. Even Al can see that—and I don’t need to remind you she’s blind.”

You think you’d be the worst person to ever be put in an interrogation room, because you sigh, not even putting up a fight. Any attempt at deflection would probably be pathetic.

It’s not as if you and Logan are deliberately keeping your relationship a vaulted secret. The two of you just happen to agree to be subtler in group situations to avoid unnecessary attention, and… well, the sort of chaos that Wade might bring when he stumbles upon this kind of knowledge.

But this is Wade you’re talking to. ‘Friend’ seems too small a word to summarize him. You gave him tips on how to get rid of blood from his clothes, sat with him on days that were too sad. He made you open up—one of the first people to do so since you moved to the city.

He also gave you Logan, in a way.

And it’s not like you can lie to him convincingly. Even if you could, you kind of don’t want to, either. 

You shoot Wade a look that gives him enough to latch on.    

“Oh my fucking god, you bitch!” he squeals. “I need you to spill all the tea!”

“What’s there to spill? You figured it out,” you say coolly. Maybe staring at Dogpool’s tongue will help quell the flutter in your stomach.

“You know, last month, he told me he was going to move out,” Wade replies.

Your eyes snap up to his. 

“It was during that mission with the TVA. Went to this different universe—which was fucking sick, by the way, everything was black-and-white—and you wouldn’t believe what we saw.”

“What?”

“You. With a really cute boyfriend that’s not Logie Bear. The way it rattled him, I figured he had feelings for you—I mean, I figured that out a long time ago, but his reaction really was the nail on the coffin.”

You blink. You did not know anything about this. Your hand stills, unconsciously pulling away from Mary Puppins. She immediately finds it a disservice and darts over to where Vanessa’s standing, leaving you and Wade sitting on the grass.

“And?”

“I teased him about it, of course. He insisted he didn’t have feelings for you and was going to move out anyways.”

Your heart jumps.

“Then I punched that lying slut in the face.”

“You what?”

“And now he’s your boyfriend! You’re welcome,” he bats his eyelashes, grinning with glee.

You choke out a laugh of disbelief. “I… did not know this.” 

“Which is why I’m telling you—I take full credit for getting you two dumbasses together.”

“Hey! Who’re you calling a dumbass?”

“‘Of course I like him, Wade, it’s just not like that, you know?’” Wade mocks, purposefully launching a poor imitation of your face. You feel your face burn, embarrassed enough to put a hand over your face when you recognize your own words once upon a lunch. 

“Please don’t.”

“Fine. At least tell me you’ve seen him shirtless.”

You swallow. Then tersely nod once. He lets out an overly dramatic sigh, flopping his arms like a deflating tube man.

“FINALLY. Did it change your life?”

“Yes.”

The two of you share a smile—yours shy, his a little scandalous. There’s silence. You catch his gaze soften.

“You’re good for each other, honeybee. You know that, right?”

Yes. Yes, you do. You feel it in your bones. That kind of certainty isn’t something you feel very often in life. But it’s there, every day you wake up next to him, every night you sleep next to him. How he lifts the constant weight of needing to justify your existence. How he reassures you that you’re free to be without needing to prove why you’re worth it.

He makes you believe in another kind of liberty. A new kind of independence. 

You look over to where he’s sitting with Laura and find that he’s already looking this way. 

“And you’re a great friend, Wade. You know that, right?”

“The best there is, boo.”

You left the park at sunset, parting ways with Laura first. Wade and Vanessa continue to walk with you—it’s a couple more blocks before they need to turn into a different street. 

Logan and Wade are several steps behind you and Vanessa, silently tuning in and out of a conversation about how middle management is just glorified babysitting. The pink sunset blanketing the city gives way to a wistfulness that’s hard to put a finger on, the kind that looks out the window and whispers ‘there goes another day’. 

“Oh.” 

Wade blinks, turning to Logan.

The older man digs his hand into his pocket before tossing something in the air. Wade catches it in both his palms.

“For you,” Logan murmurs.

Lightweight aluminum. Red.

Wade stops in his tracks, fingers tracing the embossed letters on the surface of the chip. The street lights help him read the words. 

To thine own self be true.

1 month.

Eyes meet—Logan’s already looking back at him. The message in that gaze is loud and clear.

Thank you.

“Wade told me something,” you say quietly.

Draped on Logan’s naked chest, you’re just as bare, thumb mindlessly caressing his midriff. He strokes your hair gently as if mirroring your gesture.

Something in your voice says your mutual friend already knows. Not a single adamantium bone in him finds that surprising. In fact, a part of him is glad—he no longer has to hold his hands back whenever they feel like touching your waist.

“Mm?”

“You saw me. In a different timeline.”

He blinks, then nods, surprised at how long ago that night feels. The memory is buried, but if it’s quiet enough, he can still recall everything: the look on your face, the twinkle in your voice as you laugh while walking down that brick pavement, your lover in hand. 

He watches as your eyes continue to stare into his, dreamlike. 

Are you thinking about it? The possibility of happiness with someone else, someone out there in the vast threads of alternate realities who’s more deserving of you?

He’s changed, he realizes, because the thoughts don’t bite him like they used to. Debilitating self-doubt diminished into mere curious musings, thanks to time and your constant streams of affection.   

Then you smile and—oh, that look on your face turns out to be for him. You don’t even ask about it: who you’re with, if you’re happy, questions that come with the multiverse.

You kiss the space right above his heart.

“I’m glad I’m here. With you,” you whisper, all soft and sweet, and his heart cracks all over again. 

You keep getting away with making him ache. He’s not complaining.  

He moves you closer to him before kissing you slow, nose brushing yours. Your hands find his shoulders.

That’s when he feels it. Hears a ghost of it, the three words, mouthed against his lips.

I love you.

Funny how things work. How one day a man in a red leather bodysuit dragged him out of a dive bar and into a chance at redemption within a world that’s not his. How he ended up with the most miraculous stroke of serendipity on his lap that led him to mixing his laundry with yours. To distracted movie nights and domestic dinners. To holding you in his arms like he finally gets to keep something he fought tooth and nail for. 

Funny how you thought he was sick of you, when he’d be happy to only think of you forever.

You part from the kiss first and he sees you look at him, expectant gaze wavering a little. He curls his lips into a smile—he made you wait. You’ve gotten better at making your wants clear, even if it’s left unsaid.

As if to reward you, he kisses your forehead, then leans down, nose brushing yours. He whispers against your skin.

“I love you too, sweetheart.” 

And then you exhale like your world is alright again.

Logan hears you first before he sees you enter the apartment. You’re sighing, looking a little haggard compared to when you left for work in the morning.

He makes his way to the door, but before he can help you with your bag, you’re already walking towards him, a smile on your face. Like you’re ready to breathe him in deep.

“I’m home,” you greet, voice light. He hooks your bag onto his elbow before holding your waist in both hands, pulling your body closer to his and slanting his face as he leans down. 

You melt into the kiss.

“Yes, you are,” he hums, a breath apart, before pressing his lips onto yours again.

His home, that is.

taglist: @squishyfruitloop @britttzy267 @tezooks @ddwnghead @dear-detested @duckyyyx @hits-different-cause-its-you @mrfitzdarcyslover @snowlycanroc @teresas-lisbon @fidgetingbee @poopie-poopie @thedosian-trix

[highway-143]

lucifer- choi san

genre: smut, mafia au, based on the "in your fantasy" mv

pairing: mob leader!san × mob member fem!reader

taglist: (ateez/enhypen taglist open: im not gonna tag anyone bc idk who wants to read ateez on my taglist 😭)

word count: 1.7k

now playing: in your fantasy - ateez

a.n- finally picked my ass up and started writing for other groups 😩😩 hope this is good ig lol... also can you spot the mv references? hehehehehe

tw: profanity, unprotected sex, public sex, maybe dubcon idk, sir kink, rough sex, posessive-ish san teehee, dacraphylia, exhibitionism, probably some form of voyeurism idk, probably more lol

⊹────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────⋆

"do you even get what's happening here?"

you were standing in front of san on the balcony, his hand gripping your biceps, squeezing just enough to sting. his face was contorted into furrowed brows and a grimace. something like disgust.

"do you understand who's here right now?"

the theater below was filled with the wealthiest of the wealthy, the people with the most power, anyone with influence.

and that meant san.

and for some reason, you.

how could mr. mafia go to a play without a woman on his arm and a glass of wine in his hand?

except that glass looked like it was goint to be crushed with how tight he was holding onto it.

"yes, sir." you mutter.

"really? then fucking act like it. this is not the time for you to act out of line."

you frown. "all i did was shake the guy's hand! how the hell is that 'out of line'?"

"oh my god, are you dumb?" his voice is getting louder now, and your eyes dart to the crowd only yards away. "you're mine. that's how it works here. he shouldn't be touching you. you don't touch anyone else. there's no telling what these men will do, especially when women and money are involved."

you scoff, and san drags you closer to him. close enough to where you can almost taste his his cologne, close enough to where you can see just a faint outline of a scar on his chest where his silk dress shirt cut so low it was almost sinful.

"you think this is dumb? you chose this, remember? you need this. need me. you'd be on the fucking streets if it wasn't for me. you know how this works."

"fine. i'll be good. your quiet little doll, right?"

he can practically smell the sarcasm radiating off of you. but he ignores it.

for now.

⊹────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────⋆

the second you set a heeled foot back in the ballroom, san regrets letting you go back.

he knows you're going to make this harder for him. he can tell in the way you sit when he pulls out your chair, how your posture is impeccable even under his gaze.

his jaw tightens when you laugh at something someone said.

you notice.

you weren't planning on stopping.

san catches your gaze during intermission, and he places a hand on your thigh.

he starts tapping.

long, short short short. pause. short long. pause. short long, short short. pause. long, short long, short. pause. long, long, long. pause. long, short. pause. long, short long, long.

balcony.

you hold back a smirk. barely. san can tell.

he hates the way you get up from your chair, making up an excuse about how you're "so sorry but i have to go to the restroom."

you climb the stairs alone, san acting like everything was perfectly fine while he was surrounded by people.

until he excused himself too.

you didn't know when he would join you on the balcony, but you were starting to wonder when the lights dimmed and the show continued.

you must have waited for a few minutes, watching the play from above while your heart pounded.

until you felt a hand on your waist.

and you knew who's it was.

"how's it going up here?" his lips are right by your ear. you can feel his breath on your neck.

"fine." you fake canfidence, but you're certian he can see right through you.

"yeah? but it didn't seem fine while we were down there, did it?"

you shrug. "i thought it was going well."

he's directly behind you, chest pressed against your back. "was it? i don't think it was."

"was i too loud for you? your ego cant take a talkative woman, can it?" you spin around, back pressed to the balcony wall. "or maybe," you stare into his eyes, right in front of you. "maybe i'm actually making a better impression than you. all quiet and brooding like an introverted douchebag."

he freezes, and you can tell the words made him mad. but his scowl turns into a sneer within seconds. "really? you don't know how to fucking act around these idiots, do you? you're embarrassing yourself, bitch. giggling like a mindless slut at jokes that arent nearly funny enough for your time."

you laugh. "so you're jealous? try being funny and maybe i'll laugh at you sometime. oh wait, i already do. at your stupid 'mob etiquette' that makes absolutely no sense. that's the real joke"

he grabs your forearm, holding your hand up to your face. "you see that?" he asks, clearly talking about the small tattoo on your inner wrist, still a little red from healing and slightly covered by the sleeve of your blouse.

it's a symbol, the mob's. a king of diamonds playing card, except the diamonds were in the shape of an hourglass. "do you know what it means? it means you're gonna fucking listen to me when i tell you what to do. you made a deal. you hold up your end of the bargain."

"and i'm just making it fun."

he smirks. "making it fun? i can do that too, whore."

he spins around, pulling you by where he was still gripping your arm. he drags you to the wall, away from the balcony, where he pushes you against the gold detailing.

"you do what i say, right?"

you can't help but grin. "yes."

"yes what?"

"sir."

he presses his knee between your thighs, his pants sliding against yours, dragging along your heat.

"you like that?" he asks when you twitch, mouth dropping open. you nod, balancing yourself by holding onto his shoulders. he chuckles, voice gravely with lust, and grabs your jaw with his hands.

"you're gonna take it like a good girl, aren't you?" he grins when you whimper. "gon' be nice 'n quiet for me."

he drags a hand down your neck, your collarbones, down to your chest, rubbing his thumb over your breast, digging his fingers into your blouse while he started undoing a few of the buttons.

"god, you look so good like this. mine. sexy."

you almost giggle but you can't really think with the way he's fondling your tits and pulling your shirt to the side so he can see your bra.

"not here... please." you look over at the bodygaurds standing in front of the windows a few feet away, clearly side-eyeing the scene san was making no matter how shadowed it was. "please sir."

san just laughs and shoves your bra down, letting your breasts spill free.

you feel your eyes start to water, but you force yourself to take his hands.

god, his hands.

he looks down at you, grinning like the devil, rolling up his silk sleeves while digging his knee into your cunt like he was trying to shove it inside you.

and then he's touching you again.

hes unbuttoning your slacks, pushing them down with your panties in tow.

his fingers slip through your folds, and you buck your hips into his palm.

"oh my god-" you mutter, head spinning when you feel his thumb on your clit.

he smirks and rubs faster, feeling your fingers dig into his shoulder with every flick, every press of his hand onto your waist.

and the second you think about letting yourself go, he's not touching you.

he's unbuttoning his pants instead.

he smiles when his dick hits you on the stomach, and you let a little gasp slip out.

"you like my cock, right? it's your favorite, huh?"

"y-yes sir."

"and when i put it in and start fucking you like the whimpering whore you are, are you gonna cum before i tell you to?"

your legs are about to give out now. "no sir."

"good girl."

he grabs your thigh and lifts it up so your knee is hooked over his hip. and then he drags his tip through your wet lips.

his eyes meet yours.

"oh fuck!" you shout, and san covers your mouth with his free hand, his cock stretching you open and pushing further in with every twitch of your hips.

"shut up... shut up and fucking take it." he mutters as he starts moving, hips pushing into and pulling out of you slow. but deep. very, very deep.

so deep you thought you could feel him in your throat.

but maybe that was his hand on your neck.

his pace is killing you, the way he moves so slow, like this is all a game to him, like it wasnt torture on your poor, wet pussy.

"oh god, faster... please..." you mumble, trying to be quiet even though the gaurds had certainly already seen by now.

"you want it faster, huh? thought you didn't even want it at all?"

you dont respond. your face is red and sweaty and you're pretty sure your mascara is running but you couldn't care less.

because san is fucking you faster.

he slams his dick into you harder, holds your neck a little tighter, squeezes your thigh in ways that will leave bruises for a while.

your mascara is definitely running now. the tears made sure of that.

san lets go of your neck to hold your other leg when it gives out, wrapping it around his waist and holding you against the wall. his arms are flexing but he can barely feel it.

he loves the burn anyway.

when he feels you clenching harder around him, your gasps getting louder, your hands digging into his back, he fucking pulls out.

you almost scream.

not again.

san is fucking laughing. "you should've just taken what i fucking gave you." he drops you and you barely catch yourself.

"please..." you whine, hands still on his chest. you're a mess, hair sweaty, makeup smeared, tits still out and pants on the floor, along with one of your heels.

he scoffs. "go clean yourself up, slut." he pushes you towards the bathroom, zips his pants up, and walks away, strides long and confident.

bastard.

but god knows he wasn't done with you. that's clear in his cunning smile when he sits back down at the table.

⊹────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────⋆

a.n- "im getting in your head" more like "im getting in your bed" BAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAH that was really bad omg

masterlist you may also like: babygirl- s.jy

[gnohomotho]

hiii!!! I really love your Jun Ho x reader fics!! I was wondering where you could do one where the reader is pregnant and in her last trimester so she’s kind of uncomfortable most of the time and jun ho just wants her to feel better and it’s just super fluffy and lots of kisses and just super sweet??? thank you :))

Hello! Oh, you got me, absolutely on the money! ♥ First of my "get your ass back into gear pls" fics finished and here, and I'm so happy it was such a darling of a request. ♡

Here you go. And thank you for such a lovely message! ᓚ₍^..^₎♡

❥

❥

❥

I can't carry everything, but I can carry you 𓍯𓂃𓏧❀

Pairing: Hwang Jun-ho x pregnant!f!reader Summary: You're in your last trimester and your little girl is giving you quite the trouble - but Jun-ho is as attentive as he is observant. And dear God, is that man in love...You go through your days with him, your symptoms, your check-up - with lots, and lots and lots of fluff and sweetness. No angst, no sadness, just a feel-good-and-warm-piece. 𓆩♡𓆪 Warnings: Maybe descriptions of some body aches and general pregnancy heaviness, but no warnings. Lots of sweetness. Pack extra insulin. Word count: 2.8k A/N: Thank you for being so extremely patient with me, almost getting ok here and will be updating everything as I am now. One at a time, but I haven't forgotten a single lovely request. ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ You guys are too kind and far too sweet. ♡ Will update pinned post with works to be done since expanding the fandom a tad for my RGG folk (and my wellbeing hinging on writing yet another lunatic and/or a man thick of heart and dumb of ass). જ⁀➴ But so far, I am still floored that anyone is still here and so very lovely - thank you and sending a gigantic hug your way. No trucks this time. Just hugs. (´ ˘ `) If you like my work, I cherish every like // reblog // follow // message - thank you for helping me boost visibility and writing! ♥ Masterlist ฅ^._.^ฅ Inbox open! ♡

God, you couldn’t move.

And still you insisted all was alright. Every wince and every sharp hiss of air in your throat felt like somehow failing. Heavy. So goshdarn heavy. You cradled your stomach which you could swear took up more than just the quarter of your body. 

The noise and movement alerted Jun-ho - of course it did, you sighed, with a smile.

He was in the door of the bedroom immediately, shirt half buttoned and sleeves unrolled. He must have been in the middle of something and yet again, left it all if it meant being with you. Next to you. There for you.

“Love, you don’t have to do everything for me...” you started to speak and Jun-ho merely gave that closed lip smile that curled in the corners of his lips, as if saying ‘oh really, truly, are you quite sure?' Arms crossed, he looked directly at you and his face softened. 

“I know. Sweetheart. I know you’re more than capable. But...” the man you so dearly loved in all his iterations cocked his head to the side and went a tad more serious, "...you are going through something I can’t even begin to imagine, it’s been almost nine months, and you deserve every bit of help around. Okay?"

You tried to say something but closed your mouth again, grateful for him trying to explain the line between utmost care and patronising you. Because you were feeling horrid. You were going through phases of regret – and felt deeply ashamed for it. Not for him, not for the little one, no, you couldn’t be happier for that. But your body felt foreign and heavy, you could barely move, and basic tasks were each a section of the Everest with no shoes on (because you couldn’t even tie your shoelaces).

And you of all people were not one to be helpless.

Jun-ho tried to continue, to explain, but you – although listening – softly extended both arms half way, inviting him closer in silent care. Jun-ho talking a lot meant he was getting nervous, and though he tried not to burden you, you could see it in his eyes and in the way he slept almost as badly as you these last couple of days.

"...So I'll do what I can because the safety of you and the little one is all I can ask for right now. And the happiness of my gorgeous girl? My Y/N? Looking more beautiful than I’ve ever seen her?" He breathed out while his gaze flew upwards, somewhere above his head, as if recalling a fond memory. When he landed back on you and saw your arms, the night dress sleeves falling gently down as you kept them outstretched, his entire demeanour softened further.

Jun-ho grinned and started walking closer.

“Care’s not up for debate, I mean. Nor am I I mean, of course I am, just not in...damn it I...”

Flustered, he stopped speaking entirely and nestled close to you, using his newfound closeness to get lost in your visage. The sun was falling on the bed, your hair must have been a mess, and your eyes tired and puffy, but Jun-ho looked at you like you were the first iridescent sparkles on a summer lake.

And he kissed your cheek, laying an open palm over your stomach but not quite touching yet, as if asking ‘may I?’ since he knew how delicate yet horrible you felt these days. You nodded gently into the kiss and felt the warmth of his outstretched fingers lay on your belly, trying not to see the contrast of his large palm looking somehow tinier against your little miracle that’s been giving you such a hellish time.

“We have one appointment today, and I’m gonna ask you until you actually stop being coy with me…” the tone was as cheeky as it was serious, as things were with Jun-ho when it came to you...you could feel it in the way he touched you now in the way he held you at night.

He was worried.

Elated, but worried for you.

As if you could slip through his fingers if he wasn’t diligent enough, or suffocate you if he were doing too much – but never wished to make you feel alone in this.

He nudged you with his nose and laid his forehead on yours. Other hand finding your back and gliding a knuckle up and down, up and down, until your breathing sounded calmer.

“Have you been able to eat and keep it down, or is our little girl following in my footsteps and wreaking havoc on you?”

Jun-ho kissed you once more before you could try to evade the question or come up with an excuse you haven’t used yet – something proving increasingly hard as the weeks went on, let alone months. The man was a detective after all. And he saw right through you.

You look down at your stomach, then to his shoulder, trying to meet his gaze and failing. Because you know exactly how this goes – but try anyway. 

“I’ll have something after the appointment, alright? I’ll be careful, and say you said hello to…” 

Jun-ho immediately looks up as if you just let off a firecracker in his face. Eyes wide, deep, directly aimed into yours. They hop to your lips for just a second, but you caught that. 

“...you mean we’ll be careful, because you’re not going alone.”

He might as well have declared the sky was blue. And kissed you again. 

“...We’ll be so careful that you will be able to walk through the park with your own private protection service, who incidentally…” he slowly, slowly begins leaving your side; but not before kissing each of your cheeks upon backing away, resting on one knee in thought. 

You could quite literally see the wheels turning in his mind as he can’t help but return to plant one more kiss in your hair, “...who just so happens to know both of my girls’ favourite food and favourite place to sit in the grass and just the spots of her amazing body she never tells him ache like all hell.”

“But-”

“No buts. I’ll get things ready. Oh, and honey?”

The detective, now as tall and as disarmingly intimidating in his tender force, measures you up and down, his mouth fighting that smile you know so well for dear life. 

“I packed the bag, just in case, and you tell me if…when…” his breath stops momentarily, that incessant need to think everything through thrice frying his brain in full view. You see him looking at you, you see the worry, the adoration, the constant disbelief – and the sweet but vigilant protectiveness he cannot fully employ now. 

He’s going overboard because he feels like can’t protect you enough. He’s told you. Mumbled it into your hair half asleep. That he’d never lose you. That you’re safe. That you’re his and he can’t wait to be a whole family with you. He was trying. For you. For him. 

Trying so hard. 

❥❥❥

Sometimes, when he came home before, you could see his eyes seemed darker, like the surface of the lake at night. He held you tighter. His hands roamed and gripped, as if he just left a world where this one was too fragile and too kind to survive. 

When your belly grew, and you couldn’t sleep without discomfort and wandered the house with palms against your back, humming to the baby to please let you both rest, you still heard the audible ‘pat pat…pat?’ of your side of the bed, followed by the sound of a blanket flying and steps both urgent and polite in case you managed to fall asleep elsewhere. 

And you spent the night with some reheated noodles and laughter about baby names, and sometimes, if she kicked, a sweet yet stern Jun-ho already picking up dad instincts would talk directly to your belly about being good and letting his wife rest. Or – his brow furrowed – he’ll keep playing the same old album in the car that drives you up the wall…and, he dramatically paused, eye on your belly as if it owed him money…he whispered the most faux-cold warning he could muster without laughing:

“...and I’ll sing along.”

❥❥❥

Jun-ho got you a lovely pregnancy pillow that you could both hug and be held by from the back, easing the strain and weight. You thanked him profusely and slept like a baby (not your baby, mind you, whom you were sure took one look at your genes, one look at Jun-ho’s, and ran for the latter). But you slept like a baby for those broken hours. 

Jun-ho would not admit it, of course, but you could see it in his face each time you looked up from sleep-shielded eyes. 

He got jealous of the pillow. 

❥❥❥

You learned to let him help. Let him be present. 

“I feel so useless, you really don’t have to…” as he helped you carry something, pick up something you dropped, or let you rest your legs across his lap to ease the strain, rubbing the tension away in slow, deliberate motion. 

‘Useless?’ he mouthed, laughing to himself like you just told him you enjoy running red lights. 

He would always look at you, head craning in a motion conveying affectionate disbelief at such an odd request, and caress your cheek. Or trace your jaw with his finger, smiling like he knew something you don’t. 

“...You’ve been carrying her for so long, your whole system is giving every ounce of energy to her, your body is going through the hormonal equivalent of the Somme and literally rearranging itself, and you’re still trying to be strong. Baby…Let me do the minimum. For goodness sake. I swear if men had to go through this too you’d never hear the end of it.”

You would sigh. And smile. And nod. And somehow always ended up with your back against something soft and Jun-ho kissing you, softly, trying to be everso gentle – one eye on each of his knees that framed your hips, hand around your side just resting, the other by your head for balance. 

Then he’d make you tea and ask if you took your vitamins. 

Which would earn him a pillow to the face. 

❥❥❥

It didn’t stop with physical affection, or trying to ease your body and mind. Oh, no. 

Realising he knew next to nothing about what was going on before his eyes, the man had to know everything. 

Everything. 

When you met with his colleagues while bringing Jun-ho something nice to work, just because, one joked that Jun-ho staked out every dad in the office and cornered them like they were the subject of interrogation. 

You couldn’t deny that suddenly, the care seemed far more oriented and far more informed. He would deny everything, of course, shrugging his shoulders mid-action with a smile and muttering, “fancy that...” 

The sweetheart of a man would try to justify a whole lecture-worth of knowledge pertaining to your exact stage and state, and firmly deny he had his head in pregnancy books and medical journals at work. To be quite honest, it managed to scare the both of you, so whenever he seemed to be slipping into it, you placed a finger on your lips and motioned to your belly – mouthing ‘snuggle her’. 

He’d be calm in the blink of an eye. 

❥❥❥

As you sat in the waiting room, Jun-ho momentarily away to check the doctor’s hours again just to be sure, you rested your arms around yourself and laid a hand on your belly. You sighed, with a tired smile, and hummed a little to quiet it all down. Nothing audible. Just a little melody, sweet and calm. 

A woman a bit older than you, sitting a few metres away, watched you like a hawk. You thought it was just because you were a tad too loud, or looking like a balloon in a dress that fit only a few weeks ago. But no. Without question, she scooted closer to you and got a little too much on your personal space. The bench was wide enough for ten people, you thought. Odd. 

“You look like you’re about to burst,” she said, voice a sing-song contrast to its own roughness. 

“Yes, she’s…she’s a handful,” you smiled and corrected yourself as you tried to shift. 

“Bellyful.”

You laugh, but look behind scanning for Jun-ho, who’s still nowhere to be found. 

“You know, you really should be more careful.” 

You blink. Not sure how to take it. Surely she means with walking and taking care of yourself. Surely. But the lady continued, eyes level with yours but somehow looking at you from above. 

She laid a hand on your belly without asking and you froze, softly trying to scoot away. 

“Do you even know who the father is?” 

And just as you were about to start throwing hands, Jun-ho appeared behind you, kissing your cheek and nuzzling your ear. 

“There you are, sweetheart. Sorry, I thought I’d get you something to drink while I was away and the vending machine decided to argue. Are you alright?” 

You still couldn’t see him, but very slowly shook your head and nodded at the errant hand still on your belly. Jun-ho didn’t make a sound, nor a scene, and simply took the hand and placed it away from you. From the look in the woman’s eyes, you could only imagine his expression. Before it could get any more awkward, you heard your name called and a nurse pop her head out. 

Jun-ho’s voice sounded behind you, polite with an edge you knew quite well. 

“Miss, I think I forgot my wallet back there, would it be OK if I joined you in just a moment?”

The nurse nodded and you joined her, slowly, Jun-ho helping you up and caressing your belly where the hand touched you without permission. Sweeping the sensation away one caress at a time. 

And he did join you, and when he looked at the screen and saw what you were almost tearing up about, he couldn’t hold it back. The man’s shoulders fell and his mouth opened on a wide smile, not saying a word, just watching. You could see his eyes go slightly glassy. 

“That’s her. That’s our little girl,” you smile back, joy sweeping your tiredness to the side. 

“Almost ready to meet you, too,” the doctor added with warmth in her voice, still holding the wand on you so you could see every single feature of the little miracle. 

“Would you like to see her up close?” 

Jun-ho merely nodded, still transfixed, and walked up to you, finding your hand and squeezing it tight. 

“Our little girl…”

And when he looked back at you, lying there exhausted but glad, so very glad, with eyes that said everything your voice couldn’t, you could feel him squeeze that hand harder and whisper, more to himself than the room:

“My two amazing girls.”

❥❥❥

As you exited, you were too glad to notice anything else and were focusing on not tripping on every single uneven surface. Jun-ho was ghosting your back with one hand and walking slightly ahead. 

But the woman was nowhere to be found. Before you could ask a single question on the matter, knowing full well Jun-ho doesn’t forget his wallets anywhere, he simply pulled you closer and rested his hand under and around your belly. 

“She has your eyes,” he cooed.

“She has your vigilance,” you shot back and giggled, feeling a little kick again. Looking down, you add with a little hint of mischief:

“Doing more somersaults than my heart when I saw that little extra line.”

Jun-ho chuckled to himself, hand still on your belly. 

He felt it too. 

“Should have seen me doing them as soon as you were out of the room.”

And just as you walked out, he stopped, gathering you into himself as gently as he could. Fingers finding their way around your dress and softly, everso so softly brushing the fabric until they lay on you. Both strong hands around you, then in your hair, eyes warm and so glad the joy might as well flood the street. 

You look up, meeting those gorgeous dark eyes you’ve learnt to love so much, with that little spark reserved specially for you and…

Jun-ho kisses you, deeply, lovingly, with tenderness you never thought possible in one lifetime. And as he pulls away, you hear him mutter again, breath tickling your ear:

“I love you…and I’m never going to let anything happen to my two amazing girls.”

❥❥❥

[biowaredisasterbisexual]

Reflection Ruesday

Thanks so much to @becausedragonage for creating this game, and to @sandcastlekings for tagging me!

Rules: Go through your writing, art, gifs, etc. that you started but never finished and find something you love. Brush it up a bit if you want and share it. Tag me and use the tag Reflection Ruesday (it'll grow on you, I promise) and I'll comment and reblog. Then tag some other folks you think might enjoy it.

I’ll send out some no pressure tags to: @basedonconjecture, @bygonesigh, @hyperions-light, @grimrevolution, @mageofquandrix, @jouskaroo, @the-sparrohawk, @theunsinkablesappho, @mythals-whore, @davrinsleftpectoral and you! If you’re reading this, you!

So my go-to move of using all my old Josie/Leliana draft work is ruined because I am apparently now cleaning those up, adding a couple pieces, and then posting them. Eventually.

That’s okay though! I have other stuff! Aaaaaand since Neve Week 2025 is coming up, I thought I’d pull out something that didn’t make it into Getting Into Trouble! So that’s below the cut.

“So, now that he’s not here…you and Rook?” Bellara asked, almost the moment they had entered her workshop.

Neve chuckled softly. She’d seen this coming, Bel was wonderful at so many things, but subtlety wasn’t among them.

She’d almost been able to feel the amusement coming off of Rook when the three of them had been in Arlathan the day before, and Bellara had said now they could solve crimes and it would be romantic. But he’d refrained from comment in an impressive, for him, exercise in self-control. Probably only achieved because Bel, unlike Davrin, hadn’t been aiming to draw a reaction out of them. She’d just been excited.

Which was very sweet.

But Neve had been certain that Bel would want more answers than that. And, now that Rook was out stirring up who knew what trouble in the Necropolis with Emmrich and Lucanis, the other woman was taking her shot.

“Yes?” Neve asked, only a slight hint of tease to her voice. “What about me and Rook?”

Neve and Rook. Speaking about them as a pair, a unit, warmed her from the inside and made her feel like she might be leaping off an insulae to her death.

“Uh….” Bellara didn’t seem to have planned a follow up, and Neve chuckled to herself quietly, but fondly.

“You two are…together, right? I mean, of course, I…is it…good? You don’t have to answer that,” came tumbling out, words running into each other as Bel spoke.

If she couldn’t talk to the other woman about this, Neve didn’t know there was anyone she could talk to about it. She and Rana were friends, after a fashion, but it was not this kind of friendship. Bellara different. They told each other most things, even when it was hard. And so she admitted, “Yes, we’re together. And…I guess that would depend on what you mean by ‘good.’”

Because it was good. It felt amazing. It was also, indisputably, crazy and a terrible idea. If she’d had had any sense at all, she should have said no. Shouldn’t have leapt in, with him.

But Rook had an endearing and irritating ability to turn all of Neve’s “no”s into “maybe”s.

She still wasn’t quite sure what to do with that.

“You…like it?” The other woman asked, seeming confused.

Neve sighed and hung her head, but smiled. “Yeah, Bel.” She admitted, looking up to meet the other woman’s eyes. “I really do. A lot.”

Too much, she knew. Because when it all went wrong, as it was almost guaranteed to do, it would hurt that much more.

Bellara grinned. “That’s great!”

Neve chuckled, but glanced away. Great? Sure. A great way to break her own heart, maybe. “Yeah.”

The other woman’s brow furrowed. “Is it…not great?”

With a long exhale as she thought, Neve looked down at her hands where they were folded over her notes. “I don’t know, Bel. He’s…he’s Rook. I feel like I’ve known him my entire life. And he’s always there for me. Charming, sweet…”

Safe. Rook was her safe place. But Neve couldn’t say that aloud.

Because that would make it real. And it would hurt all the worse when she lost it. Him.

[sinsmockingbird]

Five threesome pairs I want to be apart of. They'll be listed from the pair I want to be in between the most of, to the I still want to be in between them but not aching for it. For @sea-lanterns.

✧ GENSHIN IMPACT

1.) Raiden Ei & Yae Miko. I love these two, I love the ship (for the most part) and love their dynamic. I just know being in bed with them both is fucking crazy, and I want to experience that. Miko teasing the hell outta me and Ei, while the Archon is just getting a sweet tooth off me.

2.) Beidou & Ningguang. How can I not want to be with these two!? Lesbians, I love them, I want to witness their banter in bed while they pleasure me. You know Beidou is more rough and sloppy while Ningguang is slow and precise (great with her tongue).

3.) Arlecchino & Furina. Yes, a more toxic pairing with pretty dead dove themes, as deemed by the fandom. I don't fully ship them, but I just want to ruin Furina with Arlecchino. I want us both to make her cry and beg from our teasing, we'd be good cop bad cop.

4.) Ningguang & Ganyu. I'm sorry, but Ningguang has made it up here twice, because fucks sake I want her. I want these two to be slow and gentle with me, particularly after a hard day. We can take a warm bath and then after have loving sex.

5.) Shenhe & Yelan. Being tied up by Yelan and just having Shenhe all over me is.... yeah. I'm not too into Yelan, but goddammit, I am very into Shenhe.

✧ HONKAI STAR RAIL

1.) Black Swan & Acheron. The only reason this is number one is from that YouTube video. The two at, 2, were originally here, but it's changed. I want to be fucked hard by Acheron and become traumatized with Black Swan. I'll be the one to bring these two back together.

2.) Kafka & Himeko. I don't think much has to be said as to why, I mean... the chemistry between these two and the obvious history. Plus I want Kafka to ruin my pussy while Himeko is there comforting me, and allowing me to suck on her boobs. Best therapy fuck, right here.

3.) Stelle & Firefly. Let me please dominate and tease these two!! Oh my god I want to make Stelle squirm while I jerk their cock off and make sure she gets to the point of release before stopping. Then making Firefly a flushed mess while she watches, touching herself until I go between her legs-!!! God I want them.

4.) Jingliu & Yukong. My tragic old yuri women. Deranged Jingliu fucking me hard and in heat Yukong- yes I want to be bred and knocked up. I don't want to leave that bed until I'm filled with their cum, okay!! Plus, they both just need love.

5.) Serval & Natasha. This is a rare pair between two old women I love so much. We need Natasha to heal Serval's broken heart, the one Cocolia left her with, she is a doctor after all. And if getting into bed with them will start that? Then 100% we're doing that.

✧ PATH TO NOWHERE

1.) Zoya & Angell. After that fanart I saw with them both, and that thirst I wrote as well, I've never wanted to be between two women more. I want them to try and stake claim on me, fighting over me even as they fuck me dumb. I don't care how many bites and scratches I have on my body after.

2.) Shalom & Rahu. I want Rahu fucking me raw, like a dog in heat, while Shalom watches and praises us both. I also want to participate in endlessly teasing Rahu and making her unable to cum until Shalom gives her permission. It's a coin flip with them both for me.

3.) Deren & Raven. Give me these two creative ladies and let me pull them into bed with me. Just knowing Raven would be very high energy with a low energy Deren is amusing, but it works. Raven is doing most of the work, not that she minds, while I lazily jerk Deren off. It's fucking heaven.

4.) Cabernet & Kelvin. Intimidated but aroused Kelvin, having her thighs pinned down on the bed with Cabernet eating her out. Then I'm on the side, teasing her nipples and marking her neck, praising her. I want it.

5.) Tetra & Pricilla. These two would be beyond teasing in bed, and you know what, I'd take it all. I want to their prized gem that they worship and love.

[talaok]

Giving up

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Coaxing your neighbor into having sex with you although he's unsure since he's much, much older than you

Warnings: big ass unspecified age-gap, Jackson!Joel is a softie Smut| unprotected piv, crempie, insicure!joel, sub!joel, also my man has trouble lasting cause he's not done this in a very long time.

a/n:i needed to write some cheesy romantic stuff, and maybe it doesn't really make all that sense in this story and maybe i cried while writing this cause no one is ever gonna love me like this but so what bitch leave me alone (i also am i lil tipsy as i proofread this, so ignore any mistakes pls)

Part 1

"did you do something to your hair?"

Tommy was standing on Joel's doorstep, looking at him as if he were an alien.

"I washed 'em" he grumbled, "what do you want?"

His brother couldn't help but huff out a laugh

"someone's in a good mood today"

"I've gotta be somewhere, just tell me what you want"

Tommy's interest was only piqued more.

there stood his brother, his clothes perfectly clean- maybe even ironed- his hair... styled, his beard trimmed...

something was definitely going on.

"Where are you going?"

Joel rolled his eyes now, shooting his little brother a death glare

"none of your business"

Oh he knew what was going on...

"Who is she?"

"Tommy-"

"Is it Jessica? I bet 's Jessica, she's always flirting with you you ol' dog-"

Joel swore he was gonna punch him- he was already running late because of how long he took to pick his clothes- finding a flannel that wasn't completely worn out turned out to be real fucking hard.

He felt stupid for how much effort he'd put into getting ready, he felt stupid for how anxious he was, but most of all... he wanted his brother to go away.

"There ain't no one, Tommy- now, if there ain't anything you need, please go-"

But just then- just when he was finally going to get rid of him, your sweet, soft voice made its way to his ears.

"Hi Joel! Hi Tommy!" You smiled from your porch, waving your hand at him and his brother "You didn't forget about today, did you Joel?"

What in the actual fuck?

Tommy did a double-check, looking between you and his brother, and when he finally confirmed that it was actually him you were talking to, you whom he'd gotten all dolled up for, he couldn't do anything but let out a slow, long breath.

"No I didn't- I'll be there in a minute, darlin'!" Joel was answering you as his brother regained his ability to speak

"well... Fuck. Me" he was in awe, his voice barely a murmur

"it ain't like that" Joel was quick to intervene "'m just fix-"

"'m sure it ain't" Tommy let out a chuckle, his hand going to pat his brother's back "You fucking lucky bastard"

"Tommy I know she's young bu-"

"shut up man" he laughed "Just go have fun, you asshole"

__ __

"Sorry 'm late, Tommy was just-"

You smiled at his words, shaking your head

"It's ok, Joel" you cooed as you let him in,

He gave you a soft little smile, and you felt like the luckiest girl in the world.

Joel Miller didn't smile just at anyone.

"water?" you asked, leading him to the kitchen.

"Uhm- sure"

His heart was damn near beating out of his chest already- for no fucking reason at all.

Well except the obvious one... you'd sucked his dick and he'd eaten you out three days ago- and you'd made it clear you wanted more.

Jesus Christ, he felt like a fourteen-year-old with his first crush.

You watched him as he sipped on the glass.

"So?" a soft smirk was caged between your teeth "Did you think about it?"

He damn near choked.

Which didn't make any sense, he was expecting this, he already knew you'd ask.

He cleared his throat, diverting his eyes from you "I-I have"

"And?"

You'd gotten closer, your expectant eyes studying every inch of his face

pleasepleasepleaseplease say yes

"Did- didn't you have something that needed fixing?"

Oh for fuck's sake

"joel" you called for him in what almost sounded like a plead.

"darlin' just... lemme fix your cabinet first"

This man was gonna be the goddamn death of you.

"ok"

__ __ __

As it turns out, in many different ways.

Who knew watching him fix something would turn out to be so fucking hot?

He'd rolled his shirt up so that his strong forearms and a glimpse of his beautiful bite-worthy biceps were showing, his hands moved so very expertly that they couldn't help but bring back memories of what those same fingers had done to you just a few days ago, and his face... he looked so hot when he was all in his head, concentrated only on the task before him-

or so you thought.

"You're gonna stare at me the whole time?"

A soft laugh escaped your lips

"don't mind me- just enjoying the view"

He huffed out a laugh as he went back to work, but you couldn't help but notice the fact he pushed his sleeves ever further up his arms, giving you more of a view of his delectable skin.

What a tease

__ __ __

"there we go" he said after some time, opening and closing the cabinet one final time to make sure "all done"

For the record, this time you hadn't even done it on purpose, the cabinet had actually broken. It was like fate was sending you a message.

You awakened from your daydreams as he stood up to his full height, and hopped off the stool you were sitting on to walk closer to him, noticing some dampness in your panties while doing so...

It wasn't your fault... he was the one looking way too hot doing such a simple task.

"thank you" You smiled up at him, your hands going to his chest,

He held his breath for a moment

"'s nothing babygirl"

"yeah? then... you think you could check my bedroom too?" you were biting your lip in a way that made your question take on a whole different meaning "to make sure nothing needs fixing y'know?"

"In your... bedroom?"

"yes, Joel- please" you added, with your best innocent doe eyes.

Which of course made him fold in a matter of seconds.

You'd taken on a different tactic. It was obvious at this point that the man was too shy and too unsure to give you an answer (or the one you wanted to hear anyway), which is why you needed to present him with the actual possibility right in front of him.

And yeah maybe it was manipulative, but fuck it if you didn't wanna feel the man inside of you.

The flashbacks of what he did to you on that bed filled his mind the moment he stepped into the room.

He needed to get a grip or he wouldn't be able to hide his growing bulge in a minute.

"Everything seems right"

"yeah? 'm not sure about the bed" you hummed, desperately hoping he would just go along with it "it makes a weird sound when I get on it"

He turned to you then, his eyes locking with yours for an infinite second.

"try" you said finally, nodding to the bed.

He watched you for a moment longer before, surprising you, he did it- he sat on the bed.

The mattress creaked underneath his weight, and you made quick work of strolling closer to him as he pressed his palms on the bed, checking for the inexistent "weird sound"

"it don't look like there's anythin' wron-" he looked up the moment your hands found his shoulders "Whatcha doin'? sweethear-"

You were sat on his lap before he could even finish the sentence.

"Joel" you spoke his name softly, as if it were a caress, your hands slowly moving up and down from his shoulders to his pecs, as you finally scooted closer to him so your core was right against the hardness in his jeans-

He inhaled sharply, his fingers curling on the bed.

"would you like to have sex with me or not?"

You accentuated your words with a slow roll of your hips, grinding onto him and making a soft groan build inside his throat

"this- this ain't really fair sugar"

A smirk pulled at your lips as you lowered your head to whisper in his ear "I never said I didn't play dirty, Mr. Miller"

Your right hand trailed lower, moving down his belly so slowly that Joel thought he might just lose his mind.

"You're y-young baby-"

Your hand had found his crotch, the outline of his dick fitting in your hand oh so perfectly.

"we've gone over this already Joel, I'm old enough" you purred, your lips leaving a peck just below his ear "old enough to do many many things"

He cursed under his breath

"I just... I don't understand"

A breathy laugh escaped you

"there's not much to understand really" you murmured "You're hot, and I like you, and I wanna get in your pants"

That earned you a chuckle

"and you're sure you won't regret this?" he asked, "you sure this is what you really want- that- that you don't want to give a boy your age a chance instead of me?"

You smiled as you looked up at him,

you'd never met a man so sweet

"Joel, I promise you I'm sure" you whispered "I promise you this is what I want, you are what I want"

Fucking damn it

How could he ever say no after that?

With those gentle eyes of yours looking at him, with your hand right over his cock...

"So?"

He was gonna think about the consequences tomorrow. Now- now there was only you.

"yes"

That single word sounded better than any song you'd ever heard.

yes

Your lips were on his before he could even think of changing his mind- and god did they feel like a dream.

His soft stubble grazed against your cheeks and upper lip, as you deepened the kiss, as he opened up to you, closing his eyes only after he'd taken you in, only after he could admire all that was happening to him for some godforsaken reason.

A growl rumbled from his chest when your core found his dick again, grinding onto it in a way, that combined with the way your tongue was tasting every inch of him, was making him see stars.

He didn't think he'd kissed like this in 30 years,

making out seemed like such a distant thing from him, he was much too old to do something like this, and yet... everything about you made him feel like a teenager all over again, so perhaps it was fitting-

and god he had forgotten how amazing it felt.

You started undoing his flannen, not even dreaming of breaking the kiss, and once you opened his shirt up, once his big strong chest was right there before you, you just had to look at it.

You leaned away, his lips chasing yours making you smile as your gaze lowered.

Jesus, he was the hottest man you'd ever seen.

Some hair and freckles adorned his pecs, his little belly was ever so cutely fighting against his jeans- his skin was soft beneath your palms as they explored every inch they could reach.

He was looking at you, watching your blow-out eyes, wondering what potion you'd drank to be this mesmerized by what he had to offer.

You smiled once you caught him, leaning closer to leave a quick kiss on his lips.

"take off your clothes"

You got off of him, and once he saw you get rid of your shirt, your boobs pushed together by a simple black bra that somehow, at the moment, seemed like the sexiest thing in the world, he rushed to follow suit, nearly tripping getting off his pants.

The moment he looked at you again, the world- the universe, it all went quiet.

You stood naked before him, a soft, perfect little thing, looking like a damn dream.

"babygirl" he could only breathe as you reached him again.

"What?" you laughed

"I-I don't even know"

You shook your head, grinning from ear to ear as he pressed his mouth on yours again.

He was already addicted.

In a haze, you found yourself on the bed, your body caged beneath his, his tongue fighting with yours, his hands all over- You almost had the urge to laugh at how desperate he seemed, how frantically he was touching every inch of you, exploring every piece of skin-

His hands were on your tits, fingers gently playing with your nipples, then on your belly, your waist, your ass, your thighs, until finally, he found your core, but before he had the time to fully reach it you'd switched up with him, straddling his lap as he laid flat on his back... only he couldn't keep away for even a second and he immediately sat up, grabbing your waist.

He couldn't even begin to complain that you'd already grabbed his cock, positioning it at your entrance.

You couldn't wait anymore- you needed him now.

"Wait-" he murmured, his breathing labored already "you sure you're... y'know ready?"

Oh my god, you swore you were gonna fall for him if he kept this shit up.

"Joel" you smiled, looking into his big brown eyes "I've been wet since you fixed the cabinet"

"I-" he blushed "You-you sure?"

You didn't answer him, you simply took one of his hands in yours and guided him to feel just how much you were telling the truth.

"Fuck"

"yeah" you smirked "that's just what you do to me, Mr. Miller"

Jesus fuck

Joel didn't think his cock had ever been so hard.

You didn't give him time to do or say anything- he'd gathered that's how you did things by now- as you slowly, oh so very slowly, started sinking onto him.

He was big, the kind of big you'd be feeling tomorrow morning. The stretch hurt just right, so overwhelmed by the unadulterated pleasure that it was barely there.

Soft little moaned gasps spilled from your lips with every inch added, your eyes were closed, only focusing on the extraordinary feeling as your nails clawed at Joel's chest.

Until, finally- you'd done it. You were fully sat on his cock, and while your eyelids fluttered open, you regained your ability to hear- to hear the curses leaving Joel's mouth between ragged breaths

"Jesus Christ- Jesus fucking Christ- Goddamnit"

His grip on your waist was so tight you were sure it was gonna leave a bruise... not that you were complaining.

"you ok?"

His eyes were shut close and creases of effort filled his forehead, while his chest went up and down as he desperately tried to breathe.

"Joel?"

He swallowed tightly, now breathing in through his nose before exhaling from his mouth.

"d-don't move"

You smiled as you promised "I won't"

God this was fucking embarrassing.

He'd spent three days training.

And yes he wasn't sure he would have said yes, but still, better safe than sorry- except for the fact it clearly hadn't worked.

He had spent three days fucking his own fist and trying to last as much as possible and he did do progress... but this... this was fucking nothing like what he'd felt in the last twenty years.

He was so fucked

"I-I'm sorry" he gritted out, sounding almost defeated "I- I haven't done this in a long time darlin'"

"And you... you feel so fuckin' good- fuck"

Your walls had inadvertently squeezed around him at his words, making a groan rumble in his chest.

"You have nothing to apologize for Joel"

he would have told you that your voice was making everything worse if he weren't so preoccupied with trying to calm his dick down.

"take all the time you need"

And so he did, his eyes remained closed as he breathed through the initial shock, until finally, after what felt like an eternity, he was back.

He had to stifle a moan once he opened his eyes back up.

There you were, your beautiful eyes trained on his with such gentleness and care that it made where his gaze fell to feel even more sinful.

Your boobs were barely touching his chest, and yet they could have been in his face for the effect they had on him- his hands were on your waist, holding onto your soft flesh, your thighs were straddling his lap, giving him no choice but to finally look between your bodies, where you two connected.

"Darlin'" he murmured, hypnotized

You smiled, watching him admiring you in silence

"You look..."

Every word that came to mind wasn't enough, you were otherwordly, you were perfection... so he just settled on the simplest, and perhaps truest of them all.

"you're beautiful"

Your cheeks burned with heat as his gaze came back to yours.

"so are you, Joel"

And that was that.

His lips found yours again, and you couldn't stop your hips as they started moving, rocking back and forth and bringing little waves of ecstasy to your core.

A desperate moan spilled from yours to Joel's mouth as he grabbed the back of your head, forcing you into an even deeper kiss as he started following your movements.

Your hands went to the back of his neck, grabbing at the hair at the nape of it as you finally started bouncing on his dick, and god- god it was even better than you could have ever imagined

The loudest growl sounded from his throat as you worked yourself up and down on his shaft.

He was in another universe, his actions were only reflexes as the hand not tangled in your hair found your tits and then your ass, grabbing at it with tenderness and need.

"Oh Joel" you cried, his dick filling you up better than anything ever before.

You could quite literally feel him in your stomach, every little vein and ridge of skin creating a permanent dent inside of you that only he was ever gonna be able to fill.

"sweetheart- fuck" he groaned on his own, your breaths mixing as you ghosted each other's mouths, his eyes raking over your body and face, while yours couldn't help but roll to the back of your head as his manhood hit a particularly good spot.

"You feel so- good Joel" you whimpered mindlessly, now quickening your pace, desperation taking over you completely.

the sound of him entering your drenched core mixed with the bed creaking underneath you as you drove yourself closer and closer to heaven.

The sound of his name falling from your lips was something that filled Joel's chest with an indescribable feeling, he felt on top of the word, and at the same time... at the same time he wished it had never left your mouth because it was now forever imprinted in his brain, and he knew nothing was ever gonna compare to it.

Oh and also- also it was making his little lasting problem real fucking hard to control.

But he was nothing if not a gentleman,

You were gonna come, he wasn't gonna have it any other way.

His hand lowered down your belly as you kept chasing your release, looking like a damn glimpse of paradise, until his thumb found your clit.

"Oh fuck" you moaned, your eyes snapping open to look at him- a dark glaze of lust shading your iris.

Joel realized too late that he hadn't taken into account how fucking tight you'd get, and was now really paying the consequences.

Plus when you looked at him like that... maybe just this one time he could not be a gentleman- I mean it's not like he had much choice, he was trying his hardest but- shit

"darlin'" he mumbled, his thumb circling your bud "w-where do ya- where do ya want it?"

You moaned louder just at the thought of him coming

"Inside"

It wasn't even a question

"N-no sweetheart I-I shouldn-"

"Joel" you interrupted him, your lips grazing his as you talked, your grip on his hair tightening "I want you to fill me up until I can feel you leaking out of me for days"

Good Christ and heaven

"Fuck me" he cursed, all his strength going on not coming right there and then "Darlin' please- tell me you're close"

You were already seeing stars as he spoke

"I'm close, baby- oh fuck" you cried "Joel!"

A tsunami of lust-filled pleasure coursed through your veins as your orgasm hit like a damn truck.

You couldn't even remember your name as you screamed his own into the thick air, as you moaned and cried and spasmed around him, feeling him do exactly what you'd asked- filling you up to the very brim.

He'd started coming the moment you did- he couldn't do anything about it, it was just unadulterated perfection-

His head fell between your neck and shoulders as groaned like a man possessed,

until finally, after a good three minutes, you were both back to the land of the living.

He looked twenty years younger when he looked at you again, and you- you looked like the most beautiful woman on earth.

A soft smile pulled at your lips, and you couldn't help but ask "How long before we can do it again?"

And fuck him, but his age didn't matter, with those eyes of yours, it might very well be minutes.

@kluvspedro @bluebiyou @casssiopeia @bean-is-reading @millerispunk @i-cant-stfu

[kit-kat-katie]

Old Flame, New Sparks

a/n: After a year of silence, I have emerged with a new obsession that I just simply had to write about. Sue me for wanting to be in the middle of the Eddie-Volt sandwich. I giggle every time I see them, they're just so my type AHHHHH- (also ty @sanccharine for being just as insufferable about the breaker box boys as I am <333)

pairing(s): Eddie x Reader x Volt (romantic)

tw: implied sexual situations, reader has a toxic ex that demeans and belittles them, injuries sustained by electric shock

summary: After months of not contacting your ex, a moment of weakness causes you to consider going back to them. With the electrifying support of Volt and Eddie, you're able to close that chapter in your life for good. - 6.3k words! [ao3 link!]

“Cocktail or mocktail?”

“Mocktail, please.” You happily respond as Beverly grabs a strainer, shakers and mixing glass from the bar in front of her.

“So you're going to the Breaker Box tonight?”

Warmth floods to your cheeks - were your evening habits really that predictable? - but you try not to show it.

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, you only order cocktails if you plan on going to bed straight afterwards. Mocktails, on the other hand, are something you order if you have plans later…” She trails off with a light blush on her face. “I'm not trying to pry! I just heard that you like to visit the Breaker Box at night, so I put two and two together.”

You're in awe at the way Beverly masterfully pours your mocktail into a glass - bartending truly is an art, and she has refined her craft (minus the occasional broken glass).

She slides the glass over to you with an expectant look as you take a sip.

“Wow, Bev, this is really good!” You shower her with praise, which causes her to blush harder. “Don't worry - even though I'm a regular at the Breaker Box, you're still my favorite bartender.”

With a wink, you take another sip of your glass as Beverly does her best not to drop her bartender equipment. 

“Re-Really?” She shyly asks as you nod. “That means so much to me!”

As you finish the rest of your drink, Beverly cleans the bar and prepares to close for the night.

“I'll see you soon, Bev!” You wave to her before exiting the bar.

She happily waves back as you open the door, which pulls you from the interior of Bev's bar to the middle of your kitchen.

You quickly take your dateviators off as the sun sinks further into the horizon.

Although Beverly was right - you were going to the Breaker Box tonight - you just didn't feel like drinking tonight.

A familiar ding! from your phone causes a pit in your stomach to form as you check your messages.

???: Why do you keep blocking the numbers I text you with?

Just talk to me. That's all I want. One simple conversation with you so we can fully end our relationship.

You scoff at the thought of ‘fully ending your relationship’, since that has yet to be the result of one of these conversations. You talk, they somehow get all sappy and romantic on you, you take them back until you remember how toxic they were, and you block them until they manage to break down your walls, chip by chip. 

You ended things with them, permanently, six months ago, and it was the longest you had ever been without them since you met. You had felt yourself start to slip back into that toxic cycle when the dateviators arrived at your door.

Since then, you haven't had the need to check your phone for their messages, and if you happen to see them, you'd just block each number that came through.

Something about tonight, however, causes you to falter. Maybe it's the fatigue from the day, or the lack of sleep due to Nightmare's sudden appearance last night, but you're considering sending something back to your ex.

Damn, maybe I should've had Beverly make me a cocktail.

For now, you're able to gracefully slide your phone into your pocket. The urge to text them passes as quickly as you came, and you find yourself drained as the end of the day approaches.

I really need a spark to help me get through the rest of today.

With as much motivation as you can muster, you walk from the kitchen to the upstairs portion of your house, where the literal breaker box awaits you.

You gently place the dateviators over your eyes, and you swing open the breaker box door in order to get to the interior of the Breaker Box.

A gentle buzz surrounds the room, from the crowd and the lighting alike, as you step away from the door.

“Hello, love,” Dorian says from behind you, “Volt's wandering around and Eddie's somewhere behind the bar. They've been looking for you since they opened - Eddie especially. Just don't tell them that I said anything, yeah?”

“Of course, Dorian, and thank you.” You look back and offer him a friendly wave before walking further into the Breaker Box.

The crowd is a bit thicker than usual, due to the open mic night that's drawn in talent from all over your house, but you're thankful for the extra time to sit with your thoughts.

You encouraged Eddie and Volt to be open with you, but would they be just as kind as you were to them? Especially with such a vulnerable topic that made you feel so weak and queasy inside?

Part of you hopes that you'll run into Volt first - his flurry of affection and sweet nothings will melt your worries away and jolt your senses back to normal. He'll sweeten you up before he notices that anything is wrong with your demeanor… hopefully.

The other part of you wants to find Eddie at the bar, so he can make you a nice drink that can nurse your worries away. You'll throw playful jabs and small teases at each other until a smile lights up your face again. There's something comforting about the apparent coldness in his eyes - a calm wave amongst the wild sea - that pulls you in every time.

You're pulled out of your thoughts by another annoying ding! on your phone, and you feel the people next to you glare as you check your phone.

???: Please, baby, I'll do anything for another chance.

Can I see you tomorrow?

You can't help but roll your eyes before stuffing your phone back into your pocket, but not before you turn your ringer to vibrate instead.

With a sour expression, you turn away from the crowd and march towards the bar. As much as you'd like to drown in Volt's presence, you really needed that fucking drink right now.

A few bartenders catch your eye, but they quickly gesture towards the end of the bar, where Eddie sits.

A distinct coldness appears to radiate from him, where no one will approach or bother him, but it softens once Eddie notices you.

His posture shifts from lackadaisical to attentive and focused as you take a seat next to him.

“Drink?” He offers while not looking your way.

You hum in response, which causes him to get up from his seat and walk around to the bar area.

“Long day?”

You turn away from the crowd and stage to look at Eddie.

“Yeah. You?”

“Always.” 

You place a hand on the counter before resting your head on it.

“What are you making me?”

“Whatever you'd like, live wire.”

Volt's nickname for you still feels foreign from Eddie's mouth, but you certainly don't mind him using it.

“Surprise me.” 

To anyone else, your conversation would sound just like any other patron-bartender conversation, but there was enough subtlety between the two of you to suggest more.

It's in the way Eddie rolls up his sleeves excruciatingly slow, so you have all the time to ogle over his forearms and hands. When he notices where your eyes are focused, a small smirk forms on his face as he softly laughs, but he chooses to say nothing.

Or maybe it's in the way that you respond, by taking off your jacket to reveal a t-shirt that lands somewhere between tight enough to reveal what's underneath and loose enough to leave something to the imagination.

Eddie definitely notices the change in your attire, given the small blush on his cheeks, but he focuses on making your drink as you feel your phone vibrate against your pocket.

Can't you just take my silence as a no, for once?

Annoyingly, you're pulled out of the intimate moment, but you do your best to refocus on what's in front of you. You set your phone on the bar table, in an attempt to forget about your ex, as a drink is slid over to you.

The vibrant colors of the cocktail lure you in for a taste, and you're pleasantly surprised by how much you like this drink. Although you weren't one for cocktails, this one just so happens to incorporate your favorite flavors into a drink that you won't forget.

Despite not opening up about your alcohol preferences, Eddie still managed to figure out what you liked.

Or maybe he asked around the house?

“So?”

Despite not trying to look for approval, Eddie leans in and looks at you expectantly - he really wants you to like what he's made.

He definitely asked someone about my preferences.

“It's wonderful, Eddie. Thank you.” You offer him a warm yet tired smile, which causes a soft blush to appear on his face.

“You're welcome.”

He begins to clean up the bartending station as the guests settle in at various booths and tables in preparation for the show tonight. You still don't see Volt among the crowd, but somehow you can still feel his energy radiating off of every surface in the room.

As Eddie settles in on the bar seat next to you, you notice that he doesn't have a drink in his hand.

“Nothing for you?”

“I'd rather drink after the show, in case anything needs to be fixed up.” Ever-the-workaholic, Eddie refuses to indulge himself until everything is taken care of. “Are you going to stay after and help?”

“Of course.”

You'd like to say more, but you're interrupted by the intentional blinking of the lights, which signals that it's almost showtime.

This is the first time that you lay eyes on Volt, who is working on charming a customer into having just one more drink for the night, but you're too distracted by Eddie to say anything.

You notice that his arm is resting on the bar table, right behind you, but he hesitates on making contact with your skin.

You smile at the gesture - he's cute without trying to be - and you lean closer to Eddie until you're resting your head on his shoulder. Then, and only then, does his arm wrap around you to pull you even closer to him.

You decide to take it one step further, by nuzzling your head in your shoulder, which causes him to grumble.

“Comfortable?” Eddie grumbles in pretend annoyance.

He's enjoying this way more than he says he is.

You simply sigh contentedly as he gives your shoulder a light squeeze.

“Good.” He murmurs softly, only for you to hear.

You do your best to hide your laughter as Volt takes the stage. His magnetic presence draws every eye from every corner of the room as he introduces the first singer for the night.

Before he leaves the stage, his eyes find yours, and he offers you a flirtatious wink. Your face heats up from the gestures, and Volt smiles at the result.

The night flies by in a blur of music and people, and you're only aware of the passage of time when Eddie occasionally squeezes your shoulder, to see if you're still awake.

This would be far from the first time that you've fallen asleep in the bar - sometimes you and Eddie worked for a long time after the bar closed, and the combination of physical and mental exhaustion caused you to fall asleep before he could offer you a drink at the bar. Or you're listening to Eddie and Volt chat about the bar, while curled up against Volt's chest, and the mix of their voices and the soft thrum of electricity is enough to lull you to sleep.

Tonight, however, sleepiness seemed to avoid you. You were tired, sure, but your eyes seemed to be screwed open. Your phone was far enough away from you, for now, but it felt like a ticking time bomb was laying next to you as you awaited your doom.

Eddie notices - of fucking course he notices, he always does - and one-too-many glances to your phone causes him to say something between the second-to-last and last act of the night.

“Is there someone you'd rather be seeing?” 

You know he's teasing, but you can't help but internally gag at the thought of your ex-lover being as close to you as Eddie is right now. You don't even want them in the same house as you, or even the same neighborhood or city.

Normally, you'd shoot back with something like, “Nobody but you, loverboy,” and you'd delight as his face discovered a new shade of pink to display on his handsome features.

But tonight didn't feel like a normal night.

Instead, you let out a deflated sigh before looking up at Eddie.

“It's quite the opposite, actually. I'd do anything to not see this person again.”

And there it slips out.

There it goes, flowing out of your mouth like a river of shit headed downstream. Luckily, you manage to save any remaining grace you have by shutting the fuck up, but the bomb's already went off.

The concern etched on Eddie's features makes your heart pound, but you still feel horrifically bad inside.

Despite being in more… compromising positions with Eddie and Volt, this is the most vulnerable you've ever felt with one of them.

And it fucking blows.

You can tell he's trying to speak, trying to say something that'll make you feel better, but the words don't come out. This isn't as simple as cutting your hand on a broken bar glass or accidentally shocking yourself with a fuse - Eddie can't gently scold you while wrapping your wound with spare bandages he keeps on hand. You wish he would pull your hand to his face, just as he would in one of those moments, to place a small kiss on the injury so “you'll feel better soon so you can get back to work”. 

You steal the words from his mouth as you try to regain control of the situation and your emotions.

“Eddie, can you please make me another drink?”

You hate how needy, desperate, and distant you sound, but you need a quick pick-me-up, and if he's not going to offer it in words or affection, then you'll drown your sorrows in booze instead.

He says nothing, opting to press a very gentle kiss on your scalp before letting go of you.

“One more, then you're cut off. Can't have you trying to hurt yourself before we do any real work.”

You softly chuckle to yourself as you refocus on the stage. The final act is just wrapping up, and soon Volt will retake the stage to thank the crowd for coming tonight. 

You find yourself awaiting his arrival as Eddie slides you another cocktail. In return, you hand him your empty glass. He dutifully begins to clean the glass as you watch him work. 

You can't believe that you're letting some person from your past ruin what's in front of you.

You find yourself wanting to apologize, but the words won't reach your lips. Besides, what would you apologize for? Being a total fucking buzzkill?

Eventually, as Volt returns to the stage, Eddie retakes his seat next to you. His arm wraps around you again - this time, he holds you just a little bit tighter as you curl up next to him.

After Volt's ending remarks, people begin to file out of the Breaker Box. They mutter praises for the bar amid their scathing reviews of each performer. You always enjoyed the extra chatter that came with the bar, and part of you always missed that when you were closing up the bar. That, however, was made up in the fact that you had Eddie and Volt's undivided attention after the bar closed.

Just as you're about to see Volt, a wave of sleepiness finally washes over you, which causes you to rest your head on Eddie's chest.

“Live wire-” He gently warns you against further action, but you choose to ignore him as you press yourself against him.

“Stop squirming. You're making me uncomfortable.” You mutter as you hear someone walk towards you.

“You're uncomfortable? What about me?”

“You'll get over it.” You mumble into his chest, and you can hear him softly laugh as he adjusts his posture to make you more comfortable.

“Fine.” He begrudgingly says before moving his arm from your shoulder to your waist in order to better support you.

You feel yourself slip into the comforting embrace of sleep, but you force your eyes open when you hear Volt's voice.

“Live wire!”

You want to get up and greet him, but you are oh-so-comfortable where you are; however, you do weakly offer him one of your hands, which Volt gladly takes.

“Tired already, my spark?” Volt says before pressing a warm kiss to the back of your hand. “I should've caught you sooner, then.”

“I was looking for you, but I couldn't find you in the crowd, so I went and sat with Eddie.” You try to hide the disappointment in your voice, but it doesn't work on Volt.

“I'm sorry to disappoint, live wire. I'll happily make it up to you later, if you'll allow me to.”

“Please do.” You sleepily say as Eddie's other hand rubs up and down your back.

“They've been out of it all night, Volt. I got them to open up, but-”

“-But?”

“-it seemed like a sore spot, so I didn't want to pry.”

“Eddie, I'm sure you could've asked them something.”

“I didn't want to push them away after all they've done for us. What if I said the wrong thing and messed it all up? What then-”

You lift your head up when your phone starts to erratically buzz on the bar table.

“Oh, for fuck's sake.” You swear under your breath before laying your head back down. “Just leave me alone. I don't want to see you anymore.”

Eddie and Volt don't speak for a moment, and you're sure that they're sharing a questioning glance about what just happened.

“Are you talking about another object? If so, you'll find that Eddie and I can be very convincing-”

“Volt.” Eddie warns his other half, who chooses to ignore him.

“No, it's another human.” You softly say with a twinge of pain in your voice. “A human I should've let go of a long, long time ago.”

There's a beat of silence, between your confession and whatever reaction awaits you from Eddie and Volt.

“A human lover, I assume?” Volt asks with bated breath.

“Ex-lover, but yeah.” You feel a bit guilty after admitting all of this, but a weight feels lifted off of your chest.

It's enough to tempt you back into sleepiness, where you feel your eyes slowly shut as the world around you dims slowly into nothingness.

You can still hear Eddie and Volt, but they sound out-of-reach and far away, despite your closeness.

“My sweet, poor little wire… I suppose it wouldn't hurt to shock some sense into this human, right?”

“Volt.”

“Worry not, my sweet Eddie. It's nothing like you're thinking.” You can hear the smile in his words, but they still have some bite and agitation to them.

“Good night.” You murmur to no one in particular as sleep finally overcomes your body.

~

Your bed happily cradles your body as you awake from your slumber. You aren't hungover from the night before, but you still can't remember exactly what happened. 

You were with Eddie for most of the night, and you remember seeing Volt after the bar closed, but that was about it.

I'm sure I'd remember if it was anything important.

As tempting as it is to roll over and go back to sleep, you have a few promises to fulfill with a few special objects in your house.

Your dateviators await you on your nightstand, along with your phone and a napkin that displays the Breaker Box logo on it.

You reach for the napkin first, and you're happy to see a small message on the napkin, written in Volt’s handwriting.

Sleep well, live wire.

~ E & V

You open the drawer on your nightstand and place the napkin with the small pile of other napkins that you've managed to collect from your nights out.

You go to grab your phone, to see if Sam or that strange Tinfoil Hat character has texted you, but you're stopped by the ring of a doorbell.

Your doorbell is ringing.

You fly out of bed before assembling a quick outfit of something that is moderately presentable. You're mindful enough to store the dateviators in a safe place, in case your company is someone who's looking for their whereabouts. 

You grab your phone as the doorbell continues to ring.

“I'm coming. Hold on!” You yell before leaving your bedroom and descending down the stairs. 

Your hand grabs the doorknob, but it refuses to open despite you unlocking it a few seconds ago.

“Dorian…” You mumble under your breath, and the door opens before you start lecturing your door.

Your mouth hangs wide open as soon as you see who's on the other side with a bundle of roses in their hand. 

“Hey.” Your ex gives you a warm smile before handing you the flowers. “I got these this morning. They made me think of you.”

“Oh… um, thank you.” You awkwardly take the flowers from them as you try to figure out what they're doing here. “Would you like to come in?”

“I would, since you're the one who invited me over.”

You move out of the way as your eyebrows furrowed in confusion - you certainly would remember texting them, right?

Your ex heads further into the house as you shut your front door and pull out your phone to check your messages.

Surely enough, there's a plentiful stream of messages between the two of you, which only serves to confuse you further. The messages you sent don't even sound like you - they alternate between being too sappy or too passive-aggressive for your texting style.

It's almost like two different people wrote them…

You shake your head as you follow your ex into the kitchen, where they have already grabbed a vase and filled it with water.

“I still remember where everything is, as strange as it sounds. I don't remember the water in your sink being that hot - is there something wrong with your water heater?” 

They place the vase on your kitchen table, and you carefully position the flowers in the vase.

“Last I checked, it was working fine.” You shrug before gesturing for them to take a seat. “Tea or coffee?”

“Coffee, please.” Your ex answers, and you happily oblige them as your mind tries to wrap itself around the predicament you're in.

It's blatantly awkward between the two of you, and you're not quite sure what to tell them about the situation you find yourself in. 

“Listen, I wanted to talk about us-” They start as you place a coffee cup next to them before you take a seat on the opposite side of the kitchen table. 

“-I do too.” You interrupt them before taking a deep breath. “I know I reached out to you last night and told you to come here, but I needed to tell you this in person.”

Awaiting your answer, your ex leans forward.

“We're done,” Your voice is shaky, but you manage to say the thing you've been wanting to say for years, “for good.”

Bewildered, they look at you before letting out a dry laugh.

“You're not serious, are you? You're just playing hard to get, right?”

“No,” You shake your head, “I'm serious.”

You want to shrink into nothingness when you sense their anger starting to emerge, but you have to stand your ground soon if you want to truly be done with this person. The part of you that would grovel and beg for their attention and grace has died, and a newfound sense of bravery emanates from you.

“You play with my feelings all night, getting all hot and cold with me, just to pull this shit?” They stand up suddenly, but you refuse to let them see any fear from you. “What is fucking wrong with you?”

You'd like to shoot that question back to them, but you don't feel like launching yourself into an argument that would make Dirk and Harper's fights look like child's play.

You, instead, turn your head away and begin to fiddle with your fingers from under the table.

“Is there someone else?”

Heat rises to your face, and your ex bitterly scoffs before slamming their hands on the table.

“I fucking knew it. You've been sleeping around, like a whore-”

“-I'm not a whore.” You respond with an equal amount of malice as you slowly rise from your seat. “And who would care if I was? We aren't together anymore.”

As the argument continues to heat up, you and your ex fail to notice the way the lights above you flicker and respond to your words.

“You're still mine-”

“-since fucking when? The last time you told me I was yours, you cheated on me three days later with my best friend!”

“That was a one-time mistake!” They scream before throwing their hands up in the air. “Are you incapable of forgiving and forgetting?”

“You broke my heart!” Your voice cracks as hot tears threaten to fall from your face. 

You're so close to cracking and allowing them to comfort you, and they know it. They just have to push your buttons a little more, and then you're theirs again.

“Fine. Go off and enjoy your other lovers. I can't wait for them to see how boring you are. When they dump you, you'll come crawling back to me, just like the pathetic little thing that you are.” 

A small tear runs down your face, and your throat is strangled by all of the words you want to unleash onto them. You feel - no, you are - a blubbering mess, and you will do anything for this argument to be over with.

A victorious smile appears on their face, but they're interrupted by the power cutting out across your house.

You thank your lucky stars as a convenient interruption will allow you to escape for a few moments. 

“Sorry, there must be something wrong with the breaker box. I'll quickly go reset the power-”

“-let me. You were always terrible with handiwork around the house.” 

Your ex brushes past you, and you take a moment to compose yourself before following them up the stairs.

“Where's the breaker box?” They ask as you reach the upstairs portion of your house.

“Second door on your right.” You say before grabbing your phone and turning on a flashlight for them to see with.

Although it was light outside, this part of your house didn't have many windows, so it was poorly illuminated without any ceiling lights.

Your ex quickly opens the door and proceeds to open up the breaker box as you provide them with enough light to work with.

“You're directing power to the wrong things. This switch should go the other way-”

As they reach out to touch a switch on the box, a forgotten conversation echoes in the back of your mind.

“My sweet, poor little wire… I suppose it wouldn't hurt to shock some sense into this human, right?”

“Volt.”

“Worry not, my sweet Eddie. It's nothing like you're thinking.” 

“Wait, be careful, you might get-” 

You try to reach out to them, but it's far too late. A loud crackle emerges from the breaker box once they touch it, and they recoil in pain.

“-shocked.”

“FUCK!” They screech as you cover your mouth with your hand. “What is wrong with your breaker box?”

“I don't know.” Choosing to play dumb, you shrug your shoulders. “Maybe you should try another switch?”

“Yeah, genius, I was planning on doing that.”

Resting their injured hand on their side, they take their other hand and attempt to touch another switch.

Your ex gets a similar result to their first attempt- a loud crackling sound followed by their howls of pain as they clutch both of their hands to their chest.

You can't help the laughter that escapes from you - this feels like sweet, sweet karmic justice after all of the times they've ripped your heart out of your chest and stomped on it.

“Oh, you think this is so funny, huh?” They grumble before hesitating to grab another switch. “Why don't you try touching a switch, jackass?”

“Sure!” You gleefully move past your ex as you shine your phone flashlight directly on the breaker box.

Instead of reaching for a switch, you place your hand on the side of the box.

A bit of electricity courses through your veins - not enough to mess with the beating of your heart, but enough to let you know that Eddie and Volt are there with you.

“Alright, show’s over, boys.” You mumble under your breath. “Help me out?”

Another jolt of power goes through your arm, which you take as a yes. Your hand goes to touch the first switch on the left, but the power turns on before you even have a chance to shock yourself.

“Thank you.” You quietly say before your ex pushes you aside.

“There's no fucking way that worked!”

You collide with one of the walls in the closet, and you grumble in pain. The hallway light flickers dangerously as your ex continues to investigate the breaker box.

“I mean, you didn't even touch anything!” 

They attempt to close the breaker box door, but you see sparks fly as their skin makes contact with the breaker box again.

They let out a loud, frustrated scream as you allow yourself to smile and laugh.

“You set this up to make me look like a fucking idiot, huh?” Your ex learns from their first three attempts as they look at the circuitry without touching it.

“I think you did that yourself, to be honest.” You mutter under your breath, and a small buzzing sound comes from the breaker box.

Almost like a nod of agreement.

“Whatever. I'm done with this shit. Where's your band aids?” They grumble to you.

“Downstairs bathroom, under the sink.” You say as they step out of the closet. “Just be careful, that door likes to get… stuck sometimes.” You give them a gentle warning about Dorian as they angrily march down the stairs.

Once they are fully out of earshot, you turn off your phone flashlight before looking at the breaker box.

“I hope you know that you would have actually killed them if you went any further,” You begin to scold Eddie and Volt, but you're powerless to fight the shit-eating grin on your face. “but that was funny and, honestly, well-deserved.”

A happy buzzing noise comes from your breaker box. They're pleased that you're pleased with their efforts. 

“I'll see you later, alright?” You quietly say before closing the breaker box for the day.

You swear you can hear a bit of buzzing, as if Eddie and Volt are chatting amongst each other, as you head down the stairs to say goodbye to a guest that has long overstayed their welcome in your house, thoughts, and heart.

Your ex seems more than happy to leave as they await your presence at the front door.

“Can't believe that the stupid band aid container closed on my hand.” They grumble as they look at their bandaged hands.

“I think it's time you go. For good.” You cross your arms and lean against the end of the stairway railing as they scoff.

“Yeah, I don't want to be in this shithole any longer than I have to.”

“Stop calling me and texting me from different numbers.” This harshness is cold and unfamiliar from you, but it seems to work as they pause before nodding and agreeing. “Get out of my house.”

“Don't have to tell me twice.” 

Your ex opens the door with ease as you stand and watch them leave.

“Don't let the door kick your ass on the way out.” You cheerfully say as they head through the doorway.

“What is that supposed to mean-” They're barely out of your house before the door slams shut in their face.

You can't help but let out a hearty laugh, one that rings all the way through your house. A weight that has been on your shoulders for years has finally been lifted, and you've never felt freer in your life.

I think it's time to properly start my day.

~

By the time night falls on your house, you're dressed in something a little more formal as you aim your dateviators at the breaker box.

You open the door to the panel of switches, and once again, you're pulled into the bar.

Dorian offers you a quick nod as you enter the bar.

“I didn't think you were coming tonight, considering today's events.”

“Oh?” You turn to face him. “You mean when you slammed the front door in the face of my ex?”

“Just doing my job - keeping the bad ones out and the good ones in.” He cracks a rare smile that you happily reciprocate.

You don't have any more time to question Dorian as Volt approaches you with an alluring smile.

“Live wire, you look fantastic tonight!” He outstretches his hand, and you gladly place your hand in his.

He bends down and kisses your hand - an unusual approach, since he usually brings your hand to his lips.

“Volt-” You try to talk to him, but he's simply not having it.

“-my spark, I simply must assure you that today's antics were entirely my fault, and Eddie had not contributed at all-”

“Volt-” You attempt to use a tone similar to Eddie's, but he continues on.

“-though, if you do have some sort of punishment in mind, I'm sure Eddie wouldn't mind taking part of the blame from my shoulders so we can experience the punishment together-”

You place your free hand on his chest, and he finally pauses long enough for you to get a word in.

“Volt, I'm not mad. I know you're trying to protect Eddie, but I'm not upset at either of you.” A gentle sigh leaves your lips. “I'm just relieved that it's finally over.”

Volt seems a bit relieved with your admission, and he pulls you closer to his chest.

“I'm glad to hear that, my light.” He softly says. “It's a slow night, so I'll be able to give you my undivided attention.”

“I like the sound of that.” You tease him back before pulling him in for a kiss.

Electricity flows through every part of your body when you kiss Volt, and this time is no exception. You wonder how your heart can continue beating at the same rhythm when he's putting this much of himself into you.

You only part for air, and when you get enough air in your lungs, Volt recaptures your lips for another hungry kiss.

He pulls you to the side, away from prying eyes as your lips continue to meet with his again and again and again. 

You're only interrupted by a quiet scoff, which causes you to pull away from Volt and look right into Eddie's eyes.

He would look pissed, to any onlooker, but there's a bit of intrigue and want in his gaze.

“Volt, don't you think you should start the show before you attract any more attention to yourself?”

Volt simply laughs before pressing one final kiss to your lips.

“Of course, Eddie,” He pauses to look at you, “but we're not finished here, live wire.”

Volt pulls himself away from you before planting a kiss on Eddie's cheek.

“I'll see you two after the show.”

With a seductive wink, he heads towards the stage as you bite your lip and turn towards Eddie.

You're full of renewed energy from being attached to Volt, so you'd love to do nothing more than pounce on Eddie and smother him in kisses and affection.

“Don't look at me like that, live wire.” His face heats up and he looks away for a moment. 

You don't want to fluster him too badly, so you choose to wrap your arms around him and press a kiss to his temple.

“...You're irresistible.” Eddie says after a brief period of heated silence.

“But you love it.” You whisper as your face gets closer to his.

You can taste the whiskey sour on his breath as he breathes out for a moment, in an attempt to slow his beating heart.

You let him make the next move, and it doesn't take long for him to close the distance and gently kiss you.

The taste of whiskey coats your mouth as his hands tightly grip your waist. He parts from you much sooner than you'd like, but he still manages to make you breathless.

“You're feeling alright?” He asks as you try to form a coherent sentence.

“Never been better.” A genuine smile appears on your lips, and his smile matches yours, just for a moment.

“Good. I'll need you to help me with a few extra repairs, since we weren't able to work last night.” 

You whine softly at the thought of working after the day you've had, but you're quickly shut up by Eddie when he gently squeezes your hips.

“I promise that Volt and I will make it worth your while.”

With that, Eddie leaves you in a flustered state as you watch Volt briefly entertain the crowd.

Who needs to think about ex-flames when you have those two to light up your life?

[gf2bellamy]

okay bc tell me why i’m also in that hotch obsession phase.. if u don’t mind writing recs for him — hear me out: both lawyer!reader and his’ stubborn asses having an argument and you start setting up to sleep in the guest room or on the couch and hotch is just like what are u doing??

stubborn — aaron hotchner

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: lawyer!reader , argument, reader is mad at hotch , a/n: hii !! i havent written for hotch in ages sooo forgive me if this isn't good

“Okay, I’m done talking about this.” You stood abruptly from the kitchen table, both hands raised in surrender, not the calm kind. The kind that came after a long, thankless day and a disappointment too many.Aaron stayed seated for a second, then pushed back his chair and followed you out of the kitchen. But you didn’t look back as you walked away, your socked feet padding softly against the hardwood.

"No," he said, following you into the hallway. "We need to talk about this."

“Aaron, I get it,” you snapped, not looking back. “You’re too busy to come.” You didn’t sound like you “got it” at all.

This was supposed to be something, a major trial, and you’d asked, just once, if he could be there. You’d seen him hesitate earlier, mumbling about the BAU’s schedule and not being sure it would work out.Between your clients snapping at you, case files mysteriously vanishing from your desk, and the scalding coffee that had spilled down your blouse in the courthouse lobby, you were at your limit. And Hotch’s hesitation, his quiet, infuriating "I’m not sure if it’ll work with work", had been the tipping point.

“I’ll try to make it,” he offered quietly behind you. His hand settled on your shoulder.

You didn’t even hesitate. Your shoulder shifted just enough to let his hand fall away as you walked into the bathroom. The overhead light flicked on. You avoided looking at him directly, reaching up instead to remove the clips from your hair with trembling fingers.

Click. One pin. Click. Another. Each clink against the porcelain sink echoed louder than it should have.When your eyes finally found his in the mirror, your voice was soft, but the chill in it was unmistakable.

“Don’t worry about it, Aaron. I'll manage just fine on my own.”

Behind you, Hotch watched you in the mirror. His jaw was tight, his dark eyes searching yours. But you didn’t turn around.The way you said his name made his expression flicker. He knew what it meant. Knew that when you repeated it like that, when your tone went flat and cool, forgiveness wasn’t on the table. Not yet. His hand, still hovering where you’d shaken him off, finally dropped to his side.

You took your time unraveling the mess of your hair, fingers dragging through the strands with deliberate slowness. ( Something he usually did for you. )

The bathroom light buzzed softly, filling the silence. In the doorway, Aaron lingered. You could see him in the mirror, arms crossed, brows slightly drawn, trying to find the right words. But you didn’t give him the chance.

“I’m going to take a shower now,” you said, calm but cold, your tone clear enough that it wasn’t just about hygiene.

It was a dismissal. He hesitated for a beat, as if trying to decide whether to push further or retreat. Then, without a word, he turned and walked away. You shut the door with a soft click and leaned back against it, releasing a slow breath. You knew you were being petty. You could admit that much to yourself.

Aaron had come to every single one of your trials, without fail. Sat in the back row, out of the way, sometimes still in his dress shirt and tie from work. He always gave you that same look when it was over: proud, warm, a touch of awe in his eyes. And then the hug, God, the way his arms wrapped around you afterward made the chaos of the courtroom melt away.

This was the first time he couldn’t make it. And, of course, it had to be this trial, your biggest one yet. Maybe it wasn’t fair, but the thought of looking up and not seeing him there, not catching that faint smile of his across the room, hurt. A lot.

The shower helped a little. The hot water washed away the day’s tension, but not the sting under your skin. When you stepped out and reached for your clothes, you realized with a sigh that the only things left in the bathroom were your favorite black shorts… and Aaron’s shirt, slung over the towel rack.

The one he’d worn last weekend, the one that still carried the faintest trace of his cologne. You hesitated, jaw tightening. Then, with a frustrated sigh, you yanked it over your head.

You hated that it made you feel better.

When you stepped out of the bathroom, the apartment was quiet. The lights were off in most of the rooms, bathed instead in the faint moonlight filtering through the windows.

You paused near the kitchen.

Even in the dim light, you could see the dishes had been washed and the counters wiped clean. The plate of food you hadn’t finished, because you were too upset to eat, was neatly packed away in the fridge. Aaron had done it, without saying a word. You felt a small pang of guilt tug at your chest.

But then your mind circled back to the trial. To that awful, hollow feeling of imagining the courtroom without him in it. Just like that, the guilt was overtaken by that sharp ache again. You didn’t want to feel it. You didn’t want to talk. You didn’t want to hear reasonable explanations or I’ll try my best or you know how the job is.

So, you did the one thing your stubborn, exhausted mind told you to do.

You walked into the bedroom, still wearing his shirt, where Aaron sat on the edge of the bed, a file open in his hands. He looked up the second you entered. His eyes flicked over you, shirt, damp hair, tired expression, and then back to your arms, where you were gathering a spare pillow and blanket.

He set the file aside instantly. “What are you doing?” he asked, brows drawing together as he stood slowly.

“Getting ready for bed,” you mumbled without meeting his eyes, fussing with the blanket as you tucked it under your arm and turned away.You didn’t have to say anything else. You didn’t need to. He followed you out into the hallway.

“You’re sleeping on the couch?” he asked, voice low but tinged with concern.

“Yes.” You dropped the pillow onto the couch, smoothing the blanket over the cushions with more force than necessary. Your back was turned to him.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said gently from behind you, stepping closer until he was just a few feet away. You didn’t reply. Instead, you lowered yourself onto the couch, still avoiding his eyes, your fingers tugging absently at the edge of the blanket.

“I’m going to try and make it,” he said. “I only brought it up because I didn’t want to promise something and let you down. But sweetheart… I swear I’ll try.”

The sound of him crouching in front of you made you finally glance up. He was kneeling now, trying to meet your gaze, his voice laced with sincerity. You pouted just slightly, more from emotional exhaustion than actual defiance, and he took that as permission to rest his hands gently on your knees.

“I don’t want you sleeping out here,” he murmured, thumbs beginning to draw slow circles over the fabric of your shorts.

You didn’t say anything at first. “I just like having you there in court,” you mumbled eventually, voice barely above a whisper. You were looking at his hands, not his eyes, but the words were honest.His expression softened instantly. The crease between his brows eased, his shoulders dropping just slightly.

"I like being there too," he admitted, the ghost of a smile playing at his lips. His thumb resumed its gentle circles on your knee. "And I know this is a big trial for you."

A involuntary shiver ran through you at the reminder, your fingers tightening slightly in the fabric of your shorts.

"I was reading about it and-"

"You read about it?" The words tumbled out before you could stop them, your eyes widening slightly in surprise. That tiny flicker of eye contact made his smile grow. 

“What do you think I was doing in the bedroom just now?” he asked, tilting his head. There was a trace of smugness in his tone.

"Oh." The single syllable escaped in a breathy exhale as you felt some of the weight lift from your chest. Without realizing it, your shoulders relaxed slightly, the rigid line of your spine softening. His hands felt warmer now where they rested against your skin, the earlier anger ebbing away.

“But like I said,” Aaron murmured, continuing those slow, soothing circles against your knees. The muscles in his legs protested from crouching so long, but he gave no indication of discomfort beyond the faint tightening of his jaw. “I will try to make it.”

You shifted slightly at his words, your pout threatening to return, but before it could fully form, he gently pressed a finger to your bottom lip.

“Hey,” he said softly, eyes intent on yours. “I know you’re going to do amazing. Just like you always do.”

His hand moved tenderly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. You leaned into the touch almost instinctively, your cheek resting in his warm, calloused palm. Your eyes fluttered shut at the familiar comfort of it, at how easily he could melt you without even trying. Taking your silence as a cue, he leaned in just a little and whispered, “Please come to bed.”

You didn’t answer right away. The emotional fog hadn’t entirely lifted, but it had lightened. You exhaled, a soft, resigned sigh escaping your lips.

“Fine.” You grumbled, but there was no bite left in your voice.

Aaron smiled, just a small one, and let out a breath of relief, standing up slowly and offering you his hand. You took it, and in one gentle pull, he brought you to your feet and into his arms. The relief was immediate, both in the way his shoulders relaxed and the quiet exhale he released as he finally straightened his protesting legs. Your hands fisted in the back of his shirt instinctively.

“I’m sorry for upsetting you,” he murmured into your hair, pressing a soft kiss to your hairline.

"You should be," you muttered into the soft cotton of his shirt, your words muffled but your meaning clear. The vibration of his quiet laughter rumbled through his chest, and you felt the curve of his smile against your hair.

"You're stubborn, you know that?" His lips brushed your crown once more before he reluctantly loosened his hold, fingers sliding down to intertwine with yours as he guided you toward the bedroom, taking your blanket and pillow with him. You offered a half-hearted shrug but let him lead, your resistance fading with each step. The moment your legs brushed against the mattress, he drew you back into him, your body molding perfectly against his as if you were made to fit there.

"And you also can't hold grudges," he teased, his fingers idly tracing the seam of his shirt where it stretched across your shoulder.

"Hey!" You lifted your head sharply, only to have it gently pressed back into place by his hand. "That wasn't intentional - it was the only thing in the bathroom," you protested, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the way you instinctively nuzzled closer.

"Yeah, yeah, sure," he hummed, the words laced with amused disbelief as his palm smoothed down your back in slow, comforting circles.

The sheets rustled as he shifted, one hand sliding beneath the hem of the shirt, his shirt, to press against the small of your back.

"You’re still mad," he observed, though his voice held amusement.

"Mm. Maybe." You curled closer, your lips grazing his collarbone.

A pause.

"You know," he murmured, his voice a low rumble you felt more than heard, "I was thinking of sitting in the front row this time." His thumb brushed a particularly sensitive spot between your shoulder blades, drawing an involuntary shiver. "That way you can't miss me when you're tearing the prosecution's case apart."

You tilted your head just enough to peer up at him through your lashes. "Front row? You never sit in the front row."

The corners of his eyes crinkled as his hand came up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "For this case? I'd sit on the witness stand if it meant seeing that fire in your eyes when you cross-examine."

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

then send me a son

pairing: joel miller x reader

cws/tags: so much angst (w/ happy ending! i swear), discussion of suicide attempt (the canon one), suicidal ideations, losing a child, losing a parent, survivors guilt, discussions of abortion, unplanned pregnancy, p in v, oral sex, virginity loss (but it's not that big of deal/not a kink), both dealing w grief, ellie is dead, this is set in jackson post tlou pt I

summary: joel is put on suicide watch after he returns to jackson w/o ellie and reader becomes his 'caregiver' of sorts. lowkey enemies to lovers but also not bc it's kinda one-sided 'hatred'

a/n: author is pro-choice! and also understands the complexities of mental health that reader and joel do not at times (just wanted to make it clear that i understand... from personal experience... what depression is like as well as suicidal ideation).

title is from the song 'the suburbs' by arcade fire, but listen to the entirety of the suburbs (album) and funeral (album) if you want to understand my mindframe while writing this

the last sentence is a quote and i've reblogged it before but i'll find the image and post it/reblog it again

wc: 9.4k

masterlist | ko-fi | taglist

Joel is just surprised Tommy has the gall to ask, “Where’s Ellie?” when he arrives in Jackson alone. 

In this world, when two people leave and only one comes back, you don’t ask because you already know what happened. You wait for that person to tell you about a miracle, and when they don’t, you know for sure. 

“Heaven, if you believe in that sort of thing,” is Joel’s response. 

But Joel doesn’t believe in Heaven or Hell, or anything other than ashes and dirt. 

“I don’t know what to say,” Tommy says because he’d already said ‘I’m sorry’ when Sarah died, and that didn’t bring her back. 

It takes a hefty amount of booze to get Joel to tell the story.

“I just hope she died for something. Then, at least, I’ll know I’m being selfish.”

I didn’t get that with Sarah, he thinks. She didn’t die for a ‘noble cause’. He doubts Ellie did either. 

“You’re being put on watch,” Maria tells him the next morning – when he’s sober and asking what his duties are now that he’s back. 

Life goes on, which means work goes on, so what’s my job? As long as it’s not burning bodies, I’ll be okay. 

“Watch? Like I’m watching, or I’m being watched.”

“Being watched.”

He asks why, though he doesn’t need to. Tommy knows why he’s got that scar on his forehead. 

“Fucking authoritarian bullshit,” he mutters, half into his pillow. “Thought you were a communist.”

“I am. And this has nothing to do with that.”

“I bet Tommy put you up to it anyway.”

“He didn’t ‘put me up to anything’.”

“But he told you, didn’t he?”

“He told me a long time ago.”

“Figures. You always knew I was a coward.”

“You say stuff like that, and then act like you don’t need help.”

“I didn’t say I don’t need help. I said I don’t want it.”

She’s silent, letting him continue. “Now let me grieve in peace, will you?”

She hums something akin to agreement, but asks for something that sounds like protest to him. “Where’s your gun?”

“Which one?”

“All of ‘em.”

He tells her because he doesn’t want Tommy or anyone else searching through all his bullshit because that’s what happens if he doesn’t give ‘em up.

“Want my kitchen knives too?” he says, almost wryly. 

She takes most of them, but leaves the more blunt ones out of sympathy. He can have butter on his toast. Unless she takes the toaster so he can’t take it with him in the bathtub. 

She leaves the toaster, and then, leaves him alone. 

Quite frankly, he’s too old to kill himself. Sure, people do it at his age, but he’s so goddamn tired. Moreover, he knows he could get someone else to do it pretty easily. Maybe he could be a martyr. He could save someone from a clicker or a soldier. He could save someone’s life for once. But would that be enough to save his soul? To make it to Heaven and see Ellie and Sarah again?

Maybe, he would, if God really does love people the way some say he does. But if Joel was God, he’d deny himself entry.

He stays in bed for the rest of the day. Aside from the two times he eats. And once in the middle of the night to take a piss because he may be depressed, but the last of his dignity is motivation enough not to wet the bed. 

He doesn’t shower or change his clothes. Not like he’s wearing a shirt anyway, just boxers ‘cause it’s too hot outside and he doesn’t want to get up and turn on the fan. Sleep doesn’t come easy, but it comes. It comes because it has to, reluctant as it is.

He wakes up to the voice of an unfamiliar woman. Quieter than Ellie or Sarah, less stern than Maria or Tess. Not like he was expecting to hear from three out of four of those women, not outside of his dreams. 

You’ve always cared about people, saving lives and all that. But you’re no good with a gun, so Tommy finds a better job than patrol for you.  

“You’re going to be watching my brother, Joel.”

“Like, spying on him?”

“No, like making sure he doesn’t kill himself.”

A suicidal man is nothing new, especially in this world, but Tommy’s bluntness about it is. He acts as if it’s a normal job. Like the ones in office buildings that sound wonderful even though the people who tell you about them assure you it was barely better than life is now. This new watchmen position is the same as patrol, in a way. Terrifying in the gravity it holds. You have to keep someone alive.

You can shoot deer, you can run quickly, you can hide well. You can survive on your own. But, at age 10, your mom bled out as you sat by her side. You were too weak to carry her, to dig a grave and bury her. Your survival feels unearned, but you’re no good with guns. You’d miss if you tried to do it. That’s a rare thought anyway, and surely not one you plan to ever speak aloud. They’d put you on watch too, which sounds suffocating, in all honesty.

You don’t know Joel. You’ve heard his name in passing, but you arrived in Jackson during the period of time he was gone. He was going to take some girl to some hospital for something or other. 

“What about that girl?” you ask. “Is she not taking care of him?”

“She’s not around anymore.”

“Oh,” you say. 

He just nods. The ‘why’ of the whole arrangement makes sense, but you’re still unclear on the ‘how’. Am I just supposed to stay in his house 24/7? Is he allowed to shower on his own? Do I have to cook or do laundry?

“Just check in on him. He’s not the most… personable, but don’t take anything he says to heart.”

Just check in on him. It sounds simpler than it will be, you know that much. Even keeping a plant alive takes more than ‘checking in on it’. 

You arrive at his house around 10 AM. You assume he’ll be awake, but when you look around his living room and kitchen, you can’t find him. Oh God, you think. What if he’s… 

He’s asleep in bed. You’re pretty sure. He’s lying there and there’s no evidence that anything’s wrong, but when you say his name from the doorway, he doesn’t move. So, you walk closer to him, just to make sure he’s breathing. 

“Joel,” you say softly – because your other option is reaching out to touch him, and you feel that’s a little too personal, especially when he’s not wearing a shirt. 

“Who the Hell are you and how did you get into my house?” he says. 

“Tommy sent me.”

“Oh, so they’re making you watch me?”

“Yeah.”

You’re glad he knows about the arrangement. Maybe he’ll give you some direction on what to do with him. 

“Must hate you if they stuck you with me.” 

You can’t tell if he’s being ironic, but you hope so. Still, you don’t know how to respond. You decide on a simple, “I’ll let you get some sleep. I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”

Though you’re alone in the room, you sit with perfect posture on Joel’s couch, looking around at the decor – or lack thereof – looking for clues about who this man is. 

You think about making him breakfast, but you’d have to raid his cabinets to do so, and you’re terrified to make any missteps when it comes to Joel. You don’t think he’ll kill himself over burnt toast, but there is a persistent need lodged inside your brain to make him like you. It’s a little selfish when you should be focused on just keeping him alive, but maybe if he likes you, he’ll feel better, maybe you’ll feel better too. That’s still nothing but the ever-lingering hope in your heart. But it’s something.

He comes downstairs eventually, in a t-shirt and a pair of pajama bottoms. 

“Good morning,” you say. 

“No, it ain’t,” he says, heading in the direction of the kitchen. 

“Do you want me to help you with anything? Breakfast or coffee?”

“I can make my own damn coffee, kid.”

And he does. The first shred of kindness you get from him is an offer to pour you a cup. 

“I’m alright, but thank you.”

He sits down in a chair across from you and sips his coffee as you watch him awkwardly. 

“Are you really gonna do that all day?”

“Do what?”

“Sit there and stare at me.”

“I don’t know what else to do.”

“You could leave, for starters.”

“I’ll get in trouble.”

“What? You afraid Tommy’ll get upset with you?”

“A little.”

“He’s a softie. I wouldn’t worry too much.”

You are worried. Sure, you want Tommy to be happy with you, but moreover, you don’t want to leave Joel alone lest something happen to him. You might not know the guy very well, but you’d hate to see someone take their own life. 

“Can I just stay here? I promise I’ll leave you alone.”

He shrugs, and you take it as a yes.

He does not need a caregiver or a watchman. He does not need you, but you look like a kicked puppy and there’s no way he’ll force you to leave. Another young girl he’ll reluctantly let stick by his side. It’s almost cruel of Tommy to send someone like you. Someone young and full of life. Someone he has a hard time pushing away. 

He should’ve sent Joel a crotchety old bitch or a drill sergeant. Maybe Tommy thinks he’s doing Joel a favor by giving him a nice girl, polite and eager to please. It’s a good thing your chipper attitude irritates him. It’s the first item on the very small list of qualities that Joel dislikes.

At first, he insists on making his own food. You’re still a guest, even if he’s reluctant to have you as one. It doesn’t matter where he lives, he’ll always have been raised in Texas. He’ll always hear his mother calling him out on his lack of manners. His hospitality is force of habit.

Plus, if he lets you do anything for him, he’ll owe you something – at least in his mind. And he doesn’t want to owe anyone anything. He doesn’t want to give or get or build any kind of rapport with you whatsoever, especially since you seem to take all attention as progress, despite the fact that Joel is harsh with you most of the time. 

The whole ordeal makes him feel like more of a failure than he did before. He couldn’t save Ellie, or Sarah for that matter, and now he’s being forced into his own retirement or held hostage depending on how you look at it, so he can’t even get the satisfaction that productivity brings.

He also finds himself pretty fucking bored without work. He became so used to being in constant battle, even in his sleep. One wrong move and he was dead. The worst injury he’s gotten in the past few weeks was a paper cut.

Reading was never his biggest hobby, but it’s not bad when you find the right book. Often, you’ll sit across the room from him and read a book of your own, and the silence as he relaxes into the couch is quite peaceful for a change. 

No amount of peace and quiet can cure his boredom, though. It makes him antsy, and you notice. You notice a lot when your job is just staring at him, it seems.

“I found a book of crossword puzzles,” you announce. 

“Congratulations,” Joel says. 

“I thought since you were bored, I’d give them to you, and maybe you could do them…”

By the look on your face, he can guess that you’re regretting your words. Lest he make you cry, he accepts the book. 

“Plus, it looks kind of old so I don’t know if I’d know how to do it myself,” you add.

He knows you don’t mean it as an insult, but it sounds like one, and it makes him laugh. The list of qualities Joel likes about you is already long — and buried deep in his subconscious — but he’ll have to add the fact that you can make him laugh.

“Are you calling me old?”

“Not in a bad way. You’re just older than I am.”

He flips through the book and finds that about 80% of them are done. 

“Somebody did most of these already.”

“I’m sorry… maybe I could erase that person’s answers and then you could do them?”

“I think I’d still be able to tell.”

You hang your head in defeat. 

“Gimme a pencil and I’ll try the ones that aren’t done yet.”

You look through his junk drawer, find a pencil, and hand it to him. He doesn’t expect you to sit on the couch next to him. 

“I know you’re supposed to watch me, but you don’t have to watch that closely.”

You move away slightly, no longer looking over his shoulder. 

“I was just curious about the answers.”

“I was kidding around,” he says (though, it’s only a half-truth). “Come back here.”

It takes him about a week to finish the book. 

“Had to go back and fix some of the others,” he says. “The person who originally filled ‘em out was an idiot.”

“That’s not very nice. Maybe it was a kid.”

“Kid had great handwriting, then.”

You pause, hesitating for a reason he can’t pinpoint. 

“What? You want me to say sorry for calling that guy an idiot. ‘Cause I will if it matters that much to you.”

“No, no, fuck that guy, he was an idiot,” you say, clearly taking after him. 

“Language, Missy,” he says, jokingly scolding you. 

“Sorry. I should stop swearing.”

“It’s okay. You probably picked it up from me anyway.”

“Maybe,” you agree. You’re fidgeting, holding something behind your back, he notices. 

“Whatcha got there?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, really,” you say, holding it out to him. “I just figured since you finished the crossword book, I should get you more.”

He only did the crosswords for you. He never really cared for them anyway. He just wanted to make you happy — he’d rather have you content than pissy or whiny. The only thing worse than your constant insistence on getting his approval would be if you just sat there and cried all day.

He’d tried to give the book back to you, but you couldn’t do ‘em on your own since you were lacking in 90s pop culture knowledge. So, he did them, with you watching over his shoulder the whole time. 

He’s about to admit this to you and hand the new one back over to you when he looks at the pages – white paper, stapled together, all drawn up in pen. 

“Did you make these?” he asks, in awe of both your ability to draw perfectly straight lines, and moreover, how much you must care if you’re willing to go to these lengths. Kiss-ass behavior, he tells himself.

You nod, and he gets the sudden urge to hug you, but opts for a thank you with a smile he can’t repress.

“You didn’t have to do all this, but it’s very sweet of you.”

He considers taking back the ‘very sweet’ comment when he finds that 3 down is four letters with the prompt “grumpy old man”. JOEL fits perfectly in the blank spaces. 

You go on walks, read endless books, and Joel finally lets you start taking on some of the housework. It should be nice, but you get the feeling he’s not all that happy about this situation. Not that he tells you it outright. He doesn’t tell you much at all. And you’ve tried. It’s not like you’re asking hard-hitting questions. 

“How old are you?” 

“56.”

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Blue.”

He doesn’t even bother to ask the same question back to you. Sometimes, he doesn’t even look up at you when you speak to him. You know it’s the depression of losing someone close to you, you know what that feels like – the problem is, you don’t know how to fix it. You only know how to hide it.

It’s quite simple, in theory. All you have to do is give him the desire to get out of bed every day. But you don’t even know what he likes. All you know is that your presence is not high on his list of favorite things. You try and try until you swear his shitty attitude is rubbing off on you. 

Tommy checks in with you periodically, asking you how things are going with Joel, and this would be the perfect opportunity for you to get out of this position, which Joel would probably love, but to spite him, you tell Tommy it’s going well.

And it is, in a way – Joel is not actively mean to you. He doesn’t insult you or argue with you, he just mostly ignores you. So, you figure if you ignore him, maybe he’ll miss your attention. Stupid teenage bullshit mindset, acting like you have a crush on him, playing some sort of push and pull game that he’s not even privy to. 

But that’s not like you. That brooding behavior is all Joel, so it lasts no more than a day or so until you go back to trying, and accept the fact that he’s just an asshole. Doesn’t mean you have to be one. 

You never expected to win him over with the crossword puzzles but you see the look in his eyes when you give him the homemade ones, and you know there’s something in there besides all that pain. You know that look, can’t put a name to it, all you know is that it’s a good sign, one you had yet to see from Joel.

Joel wouldn’t have thought he’d get tired of hearing someone ask, “can I do anything for you?”, constantly begging to dote on him, to care for him. The last time someone did this for him was on Father’s Day, which is an ancient holiday now, almost mythical.

But it’s been weeks of the same old shit. It has nothing to do with you. In fact, you’re probably the best ‘caregiver’ he could’ve gotten stuck with. Thing is, though, he doesn’t want a caregiver, and he’s tired of said caregiver bombarding him. It’s enough to just have her watching him like a hawk, but yapping in his ear is another thing. Because he enjoys the quiet (and because the way you ask him questions reminds him of Ellie.)

It’s a joke, a stupid joke. It’s his patience wearing thin.

“Can I get you anything?” you ask. 

“Sure. A beer, maybe. And a fuckin’ blowjob,” he mutters. Yeah, that’d be the dream but it’s a joke, bordering on a jab at you. 

“I don’t think we have any beer,” you say. You both know damn well there’s no alcohol in the house. 

“I know.”

“And, as for the other thing- is that something that you’d want… me to do?”

“Hey,” his tone softens. “Sweetheart, it was a joke. I was messing with you.”

“Okay, so you don’t want that, correct?”

“It was a joke. I’m sorry I even said it.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you say, sheepishly. “It’s your house, your rules, right?”

The concept of free speech in his house was one he’d brought up regarding ‘swear words’— It’s his house so he’s allowed to say ‘fuck’, ‘shit’, ‘bitch’, and every other word he could come up with, and he came up with some deep cuts just to make you laugh. Admittedly, it’s a nice sound.

“Yeah.” He thinks for a moment. “I just think that these sorts of topics aren’t appropriate for someone…”

“You know I’m an adult, right, Joel?”

“Yes, I know, but you’re still young and you seem a little innocent. I don’t want to put those types of thoughts in your head.”

“I know what a blowjob is, and I know what sex is. I just haven’t found the right person yet. That doesn’t mean I’ve never thought about it or whatever.”

You rarely snap at him, so he knows that word — innocent — must’ve been more offensive than he’d meant it. Maybe you’re not innocent. Maybe you’re just kind and a hell of a lot younger than him. Maybe it just seems like you should be.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m just saying that I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

“But do you want it?” You punctuate every word with a newfound annoyance.

“It’s not about that.”

“Yes it is.” You’re quite incredulous for someone who has been presented with the idea only a moment ago.

“Fine. Yes, in theory, if we were just two people who know each other, then, sure, if you offered, I’d say yes.”

“I offered.”

The way he calls you ‘sweetheart’ feels more like an insult than a term of endearment. You’d rather be ‘kid’ or nothing at all, anything less patronizing. It’s worse when he calls you innocent. You’re not innocent, you’re just nice — something that Joel is not. You’re painfully nice. You’ve heard it makes people like you. You’re still waiting on the results, though.

But, if he’d ordered you to suck him off, you’d have kneed him in the balls, and he would’ve thought twice about calling you ‘sweetheart’. The thing is, he doesn’t. Instead, he backs away from the opportunity, tells you it was a joke. 

But you see two things behind his eyes: one, he wants this. He might not want to want this, but he does. More importantly, you see his genuine concern for your well-being override this desire and you realize you feel safer around him than you do around most men. That’s one of the reasons that you do give him ‘a fuckin’ blowjob’. The other being that, sometimes, before you go to bed, you can’t sleep, and a certain man comes to mind as your fingers slip beneath the waistband of your panties. 

When you reiterate that you offered, you exchange a long stare wherein you try to reach into each other’s souls and sort this shit out but when you both realize you can’t, Joel says, “Okay.”

And you say, “Okay.”

A new kind of tension bubbles to the surface as Joel sits down on the couch and you kneel before him. 

You fiddle with his belt, eventually managing to get it undone, but Joel does the rest of the work it takes to get his pants down to his ankles, boxers too. 

You’d imagined he’d be big, but that’s how fantasies work. Every man’s dick is big in your lewd daydreams, but it’s like you manifested it with Joel. You begin to feel like you’re in over your head, and though you aren’t innocent, you aren’t experienced enough to take him. But who are you to back down from a challenge?

Joel can see hesitation wash over your face for the first time. You pause, study the scene like you’re trying to decide your approach, and then you take his cock in your hand, looking up at him like you’re asking for the green light.

He gives you the go-ahead with the only piece of advice he thinks you’ll need. “Just don’t bite, and you’ll do fine.”

He probably should’ve mentioned another thing: don’t take too much at once or you’ll choke. His head lolls back and his eyes fall closed the moment your lips meet the tip of it. He doesn’t touch you, doesn’t want you to feel intimidated by his presence while you’re exploring, so to speak. He lets out a low groan of approval to let you know he’s still with you.

But he’s fading into a beautiful oblivion until he hears you gag, feels you sputter and it shocks him out of that blissful feeling. His eyes snap open and he cradles the back of your head. 

“Easy, easy,” he says. “Don’t hurt yourself.” 

You pull away briefly and catch your breath. 

“That’s good,” he says. “Breathe, baby.”

He can see you looking for instructions, so he takes your hand and helps you get a firm grip on his cock, sliding your hand up and down, and finally letting you do it on your own. 

“Doin’ good, baby,” he says. “You gotta give your mouth a break sometimes.”

You’ve never gotten anything close to praise from Joel before. It’d warm your heart like nothing else if it weren’t so goddamn sexy in this context. 

You nod, wipe the spit from your chin, and give your mouth a brief break, but you can’t hold yourself back forever. Soon, your lips are back on his cock, kissing from the base to the tip, flicking your tongue over the head, seeing what reactions you can get from him. 

When you get into the rhythm of hand and mouth in tandem, you barely register him telling you that he’s gonna come. 

You imagine it’s an acquired taste but it’s not awful. You can swallow it. So, you do, and you look up at him with a smile. 

He looks like he’s woken up from a dream and he’s still getting his bearings straight, but he’s quick to stand up and take your hand. 

“Where are we going?”

“To my bed.”

You’d follow him anywhere but bed does sound good to you right now. It sounds like an adventure. You don’t go into his bedroom unless absolutely necessary. You’d think he was hiding something horrible in there if you didn’t have a mutual feeling regarding your own bedroom.

“Are we going to have sex?” you ask. 

“No,” he says. 

“Then, what are we going to do?”

“You,” he begins. “Are going to lie back and relax.”

He coaxes you to lie down, and he doesn’t have to try hard. 

“I,” he continues. “Am going to make you feel good.”

You’re fairly certain about what he means, so there’s nothing left for you to do but let him do the work. It’s just another part of the job you’ll have to learn from experience.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he says. 

You nod. 

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Let’s get you out of these clothes,” he says, playing with the hem of your t-shirt. 

“Wait-” you say, sitting up, and he withdraws. “Can we kiss… first?”

He looks surprised for a moment, and you worry you’ve fucked up. 

“I just feel like we should do that,” you say, much quieter.

“Yeah,” he says. “I guess that makes sense.”

His hand cups your cheek and he looks you in the eyes like he’s trying to find answers somewhere in there. 

“Has anyone ever kissed you before?”

“Not really, not the way I want you to kiss me.”

“Feels a bit rude of me to have put my dick in your mouth before you’d even been kissed.”

Still, he leans in and kisses you, but it’s soft, gentle. It’s not a peck on the lips, though, it’s more. It gradually gains momentum and passion. Eventually, he slips his tongue in your mouth and you take it in stride. 

“You’re very good at this,” he says. “If I didn’t know any better, I wouldn’t think this was your first time.”

“Is that a compliment?” you ask, doubting Joel is capable of such things.

He ignores your question, and sighs. You know it’s not directed at you because you’re fairly sure he’s not listening.

“I know I said I was gonna do some things with you, but I don’t wanna take things too fast, okay?”

“Are you saying you’re just going to kiss me?”

“I think that’d be the right thing to do.”

“That’s not fair,” you whine.

You wish you could sound sexy, or whatever, but you probably come off like a bratty child.  

“Excuse me?”

“That’s not fair. You said you’d make me feel good. I thought you were gonna return the favor.”

“I was.”

“Then, why are you backing out?”

You’re shocked that he’s the pussy — pun-intended — in this scenario.

“I thought it might be too much for you.”

You grab his hand and slip it under the flimsy fabric of your shorts. 

His eyes go wide. 

Fucking hell, you’re wet, is the only thought on Joel’s mind. It makes sense. He’d be offended, maybe even worried if you were dry as a desert down there, but he’s barely touched you. Either you really enjoyed kissing him or you actually liked sucking him off too.

He gently presses the pads of his fingers against the wet spot on your panties.

“You’re right, baby. It’s only fair if I help you out.”

He’s able to get your shorts and your panties down in one swift pull. You look impressed by the action. Just you wait, he thinks. He’s not an expert by any means, but it’s not too hard to learn if you pay attention — and sex is one of the only times Joel does listen — it’s also not a skill you lose over time. It’s muscle memory, or maybe it’s innate.

His thumb rubs your clit lazily as he watches your face scrunch up in pleasure, your eyes fill with need. When the first finger slips inside you, he hears a breathy sigh come from above — it sounds like relief though he knows you haven’t come yet.

He’s never had a woman have such a strong reaction to his lips on her clit. It almost startles him at first. You’re frantic from the moment his lips meet your skin, crying out for him like you’re scared he’ll stop.

“Hey,” he says, “I’m right here. Don’t have to get so worked up. I’m gonna take care of you.”

He can’t say another word because his lips are occupied, so he relies on his hands, his soothing touch, to tell you that everything is alright. He gets the urge to tell you how good you are for him, how good you taste, how pretty you are like this, but he knows it’d be cruel to let up now. He’s callous often, sometimes harsh, but rarely cruel.

His instinct tells him to drag this out, to make your thighs shake, to have tears running down your cheeks, to tease you. To be the asshole that he tends to be when you’re around (and when you’re not). This is a version of Joel you might come to like.

He’s lived long enough to be well-practiced in this field of life. Doesn’t matter if he’s particularly romantic or even sociable, it’s just happened enough times over the course of fifty plus years for him to know the ins and outs. He can get you there quickly and lead you through it slowly.

He’s so used to you saying his name in a tone he considers pestering that he’s begun to hate the word itself. But when it’s drawn out and desperate like this, it sounds wonderful.

You’re at his mercy, he thinks. Which means he’s in control. And, as much as he’d hate to admit it, control does not mean he can kill you, control means he can care for you.

When you come down from your high, Joel is looking up at you from between your thighs with messy hair and kiss-dark lips. His smile looks like one of pride. Your cheeks heat up, only half-remembering what just happened. You could describe the event simply in a cause and effect relationship — he went down on you, so you came. You know what an orgasm feels like, but that was something beyond anything you’d ever experienced before. You fear an addiction may be coming on.

Your voice comes out shaky, which only makes your first words after a long silence sound stupider. “Thank you.”

He looks confused, and it takes him a moment to respond. “My pleasure,” he says, and you swear it might be when you see a semi through his sweatpants.

You’d offer more ‘help’ but you truly don’t think you can manage it. You can feel your body pulling you towards sleep. Your eyes have barely opened and they want to close again.

Joel notices because how could he not, you’re completely naked in every sense of the word.

“Get some rest,” he says before standing up.

He’s leaving.

“Where are you going?” you ask, instinctively.

“Downstairs.”

You do not want to say it. The fear of rejection is too strong, but so is the sudden urge to cry. Holding back tears is a strength of yours, though, so Joel never sees them. Somehow, after doing one of the most adult things, you feel like a baby in the wake of it. You are supposed to be taking care of him, and you are failing.

“What?” is his response to your refusal to meet his eyes.

“I just assumed you were going to stay. That’s all.”

“I can. If that’s what you need me to do.”

You don’t say anything. He climbs into bed anyway after picking up your underwear and handing it to you.

He doesn’t hold you but he doesn’t leave either. What he does do is kiss you on the forehead when he thinks you’re already asleep. It’s a compromise between your fear and your desire.

It isn’t as weird as one might think it would be — acting as if you’ve never done anything remotely sexual with one another. It’s easier because you don’t have to go back to being friends. You never really were. It was always awkward. What’s new? Only your knowledge that at least some of your feelings are mutual. Only the fact that you think about having sex with him every time he’s in front of you. It’s really just out of curiosity sometimes. What would he be like in bed? Does he want it too? How would you even broach the subject?

Sometimes, it’s not just curiosity. Those days are harder to navigate. You have to pretend like every little touch — most of them accidental — fuels the fire. It’s not the sensation itself. It’s just the acute awareness of his body, how close it is to yours, how easily you could reach out and touch him, that enters your mind.

“You’re staring.” Joel says from the other side of the couch.

“Sorry. I zoned out.”

“Got something’ on your mind?”

“Not really.”

“C’mon, what is it?”

“Why do you suddenly care about my thoughts?” About me.

“You think I didn’t care about you before? You’ve been in my house everyday for months now.”

“So?”

“And, I haven’t tried to kick you out yet.”

“You’re not allowed to kick me out. That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Okay. How ‘bout this: I’m down here sitting with you because I know you don’t like to be alone.”

“So you pity me?”

“No, if I pitied you, I’d have told Tommy to give you a new job.”

“Okay, so, you expect me to believe you care but you refuse to talk to me half the time.”

“I’m not much of a talker. But, now that I’m trying to talk to you, you’re shutting me out.”

“I’m not— It’s just not a big deal. I don’t even remember what I was thinking about anyway.”

“Bullshit.”

“What?”

“I said, that’s bullshit.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll talk.”

You take a deep breath before speaking, one long enough that he gestures for you to go on.

“I was just thinking about what it would be like if we had sex.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, since we, you know, we did that stuff… it’s not like it’s a totally crazy thought.”

“‘That stuff’? Be more specific, honey.”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“I do, but you can’t be thinking about having sex with me when you can’t even use big girl words when you’re talking about it.”

“It doesn’t even matter.” Your face is burning. It so, totally, does matter. “I was just curious.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Mm-hmm. Go on thinking, I’ll get back to reading.”

“Wait, what? You just made me tell you that to make me embarrassed? You’re not even gonna—”

“What? Gonna fuck you?”

The word slips out of his mouth so easily.

“I don’t know, maybe.”

“Well, I’m not.”

Truth is: he’s been thinking about you every day since. He only caught you staring because he was doing the same. He tries to restrain himself because it feels like the right thing to do.

But he still, he acquiesces and takes you upstairs to his bedroom.

He lays you down on the bed and undresses you slowly like you’re a gift and he doesn’t want to tear the paper. He places your clothes atop the dresser, but leaves his strewn across the floor.

Wonder fills your eyes as he reveals his naked body. Hesitation and awe wrapped up in one.

“Wow,” you say, breaking the silence, “it’s, um, you know— do you think it’ll fit?”

It’s not the first time he’s heard that. It no longer brings him that bashful pride that it did when he was younger. It’s just a fact. A nuisance sometimes.

“Not if we don’t get you ready first.”

“Do you need to get ready first too?”

He looks down at his cock, rock-hard and eager.

“No, baby, just looking at you is enough to get me ready.”

A thought crosses his mind — one he thought he’d left in his teenage years — what if he comes too quickly?

He lies back on the bed next to you and reaches for you, waits for you to let him maneuver you.

“Come here,” he says.

You sit up and face him, slowly inch towards his arms that beckon you.

You’re fairly sure you know what he wants you to do. Sit on his face. But god, something about it seems awkward in the amount of control you simultaneously give up and are given in turn.

“You trust me, right?” he asks.

“Of course.”

An answer you wouldn’t have ever thought you’d give back when you first met.

“Then, come sit on my face.”

You swing your leg over him and steady yourself above his face.

He grips your thighs to guide you. You grip the headboard to save yourself from passing out the moment Joel’s mouth meets your skin.

Joel wouldn’t be the man you’d have thought would have such a talented tongue based on how little he uses it. You can’t blame him for not talking right now. Your moans echo off his bedroom walls and permeate the balmy summer air. The windows are closed and the curtains shield your naked bodies from the neighbors but even if you’d left them open, you wouldn’t have the sense to care.

You’re an incoherent mess of moans and half-words, trembling thighs and sweat. Your orgasm comes on strong, and if your eyes weren’t screwed shut, maybe you’d see the gates of heaven.

It’s been a while since he’s done this. Tess never liked it like this and the last woman before her was one from another lifetime, pre-outbreak, an inconceivable world despite having once called it home.

He’s not really thinking about that, though, in this moment, all Joel can think of is you. Your skin, your sweat, your heat, and the pretty noises you make. At one point, he swears he hears his name though your thighs are covering his ears. And he doesn’t mind it one bit.

“I’m gonna pass out,” he hears from above him.

“No, you’re not. I’ve got you,” he tries to say, though surely his words are muffled.

“Don’t let me go.”

He doesn’t. He carefully helps you lie back on the bed. When he meets your gaze, he swears he’s never seen adoration like that in anyone’s eyes before. At least, not in a long time.

It terrifies him, but in spite of his hesitation, he holds you close.

A blanket of peaceful silence settles over your bare bodies.

You speak quietly, trying not to awaken Joel’s senses. The ones that pull him away from you. The moment feels like glass in your hands.

“Are we going to have sex?”

“Hm?”

“We were going to, right? You were getting me ready for it.”

“I thought I wore you out.”

“Maybe, but that doesn’t mean I want to stop.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’d tell you if you were.”

He hesitates.

“I’ll be good. I promise.”

Those are the words that awaken his arousal. In an instant, you find his body looming above yours. He kisses you until your lips are red and puffy. He doesn’t break your gaze as he positions his cock at your entrance. Your green light is your needy hips begging him to fuck you.

He starts slow, even the head is a stretch. You scrunch up your face and hold back the urge to squirm.

“It’s gonna be a little uncomfortable at first, baby, and that’s why we’re gonna take it slow.”

Slow is an understatement. It takes ages for him to give you another inch — or maybe you’re just antsy. This one makes you whimper, makes you clamp down around him.

“It’s okay, baby. You’re gonna be fine.”

Joel’s voice is tender and sweet, and it gives you enough hope to ask for something you think he’d usually deny you.

“Can you hold my hand?”

He interlocks his fingers with yours. It feels oddly natural. He doubts he’s heard someone ask to hold his hand since— not now, he’ll go soft if he thinks about her. He’ll close in on himself and you need him — in more ways than one.

He continues slowly as he promised he would until he hears your moans of pleasure and your pleas for more, more, more. More is a little bit faster, a little bit harder, as deep as you can take it, and most importantly, his thumb tracing circles on your clit.

You squeeze his hand with yours as your inner walls clamp down around him.

“Just let it happen. It’s okay. I’m right here.”

When you come, he does too — the most blissful mistake he’s ever made.

Curses fly out of his mouth through his orgasm, stopping briefly as he catches his breath, and resuming when he pulls out and watches as his come drips out of you.

“Fuck. Shit. Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you insist. “I liked it.”

“I’m glad you liked it.” Because I fucking loved it. “But, it’s dangerous. We’ve gotta be more careful.”

In the future — it’s implied. Another time is nothing when the lines have all been crossed and when the other side brings him a warmth the hot summer never could.

You have more power over him than the sun.

It becomes a routine — briefly — and you are more careful. You discreetly buy condoms, but when your next period doesn’t come, you fear it might be too late.

You don’t tell Joel, not at first. Sometimes, they’re irregular, and you don’t want to give the man a heart attack. But then a week passes, another week passes, and eventually you have to — especially when you’re beginning to feel a bit nauseous and have no other explanation for it. It’s better to say something before he asks.

“Joel,” you say, “I haven’t gotten my period yet.”

A look of horror crosses his face before he asks, “How late is it?”

You take a breath before admitting, “A few weeks.”

“How many?”

“Almost three.”

“Fuck.” He sighs in preemptive defeat. “Have you taken a test?”

“No, I thought it would come so I didn’t want to overreact.”

“We’re going to go get one.”

He stands up immediately and turns towards the door.

“Wait,” you say, stopping him in his tracks.

“I should probably get it. It’ll look less suspicious.”

No, it won’t. Those who suspect something is up with you, will have their suspicions, and those who don’t, won’t think to pay attention.

They recommend taking multiple because false negatives are common.

The first one is a clear positive, so clear you think it might be a false positive, so you wait to freak out until you see two lines come up on the second test.

Joel is silent, even when you hand him the test.

But, so are you, because what more is there to say? The tests say it all.

“I’ll do whatever you need me to,” he says, and you’re surprised until he clarifies.

“I doubt they’ll make you pay for the pill or the procedure — however they do it, but I’ll take care of you while you’re recovering. I’ll be there through it all. Promise.”

The pill or the procedure. The abortion that he expects you to have. Truth be told, you hadn’t really thought about what you’d do until now. It’s probably the right decision. Do you really want to bring a baby into this world? Can you even take care of one?

“Okay,” you say. “I’ll make an appointment.”

You save your tears for Maria. She approaches you in the clinic. You’d be delighted to see her at any other moment.

“Making an appointment?” she asks.

“Yeah, just a checkup,” you lie.

The woman at the counter clarifies with you. “Just a checkup? Is that what you’d prefer?”

You turn back and forth between her and Maria.

“Um, no,” you say, “keep it as is.”

Maria raises an eyebrow and there is nowhere left to hide. You might be able to outrun her, but she knows where you live and isn’t afraid to confront you at your doorstep.

She saves you some of your dignity when she whispers, “How about a chat at my place? I have some tea that helps with nausea.”

The tea is persuasive but you’d have to go anyway. You don’t speak on the walk to Maria’s. She brews the tea and you sit across from each other in the kitchen before she finally speaks.

“What’s the appointment for?” she asks. “And I’m not here to judge you, I just want the truth.”

You’re not my mom, you could say, but she’s the closest thing you’ve had to one since your own passed.

“An abortion,” you say quietly, looking down at the table, at your hands around the mug.

“Okay,” she says, gently. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

You try to reply but all the comes out is a sob.

Eventually, she pries the truth out of you. You explain what happened when you told Joel the news.

“So, he made the decision, and then told you he’d be there for you if he did what you wanted?”

“I guess. But, I think it might be the right choice. I mean, it'd be hard to raise a child in this world…” You cut yourself off when you look at her bump. She’s gonna be a mom, a good mom. And, stupidly, you’re jealous.

Even though it’s not there yet, you swear you can see a high chair in your periphery. You could be holding a warm bottle instead of a hot mug of tea. Maria could be feeding her child his first bite of baby food next to you.

“Let me ask you something, and I want you to really think about it, and be honest with me.”

You nod and wait for her question.

“If Joel had said he’d support you no matter what, even if you wanted to keep the child, if he said he’d step up as a father, would you have made the appointment?”

“I don’t know.” Oh, but you do. Maria waits for you to come to a conclusion, for you to spit it out.

“I like the idea of having a kid. I love kids, and I sometimes think about what it would be like being a mom, but I know that I can’t be one. Not right now.”

If there is one thing Joel can’t be, it’s a father. Not again. He’s too old, too grouchy, too cynical. He’s not the man he used to be. He was never good at it anyway. He couldn’t save his own kid. He’s already a failed father — once, if not, twice.

You’d be a great mother, and that’s the greatest tragedy. He’s failed you already. He’s not good at the kinder things of life. He shouldn’t have indulged in you, in the love you gave him when he cannot give it back. There are a lot of things Joel can’t quite get right — being a lover, a father, a good man.

Every night since the outbreak began, he’s watched Sarah bleed out in his arms. Sometimes he sees Tess, Sam and Henry, Bill, even Tommy which feels like an augury. Ellie is there almost every night, losing consciousness. Only sometimes is she in that hospital bed, often, she’s lying in the show, with blue lips and almost no pulse. Now, you’ve begun to enter his subconscious. You’re always too far out of reach, screaming his name until he’s shot dead, and the last thing he hears is you shriek as you watch him die in front of you.

Another person is another tragedy once they have the misfortune of coming into his life. There cannot be another person, especially not a child.

You should be back by now, he thinks as he splashes water on his face for the umpteenth time, hoping it’ll wash away all the mistakes he’s made.

He can tell it’s Maria by the way her knuckles rap on his front door. He can tell she’s pissed too.

When he opens the door, he sees you in standing behind her, like you’re afraid of him.

“Unless you want to have this discussion on your doorstep, I suggest you let me — us — inside.”

He does, reluctantly.

“Joel Miller, when do you plan on becoming a man?”

“What?”

“You just told her to make an appointment, didn’t even give her a chance to think about it? You managed to run away from your problems while you’re on house arrest. Impressive.”

“I thought that was what we both wanted,” he says, looking past her, to you.

“I guess, maybe,” you shrug.

The one thing he’s grateful for is Maria’s suggestion that you talk privately.

You sit further from him than usual, you refuse to meet his eyes.

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask what you wanted. I thought I was making the right choice.”

“It’s okay. I don’t even know what I want.”

But the tears suggest otherwise.

“Do you want to keep the baby?”

“Maybe, but I can’t. It’s not a good idea.”

“That’s what I think, but Maria’s right, it’s your choice.”

“But I don’t know how to make that choice.”

“You’ve got a good heart. Follow it.”

You spend a lot of time thinking, remembering, and trying to convince yourself that there is no part of you that wants to be a mother. But, in your bedside drawer, there is a handful of photos — all from before the outbreak. You see your mom as a child on a swing set, and as a teen blowing out candles on her birthday. Her mom is in that one too, sitting next to her, smiling. You wish more than anything to have pictures of you and your mom.

You think about the little girl who pretended a ratty old stuffed bear was her baby. You can hear your mom telling you that you’re doing a good job, how you’ll be good at this one day. Your bedtime stories were never about fairy princesses, but about your family, the ones you didn’t get to meet.

“I wish I could have that,” you’d say.

“One day, you might be able to — the world is scary right now, but that doesn’t mean it’s gonna be like this forever,” she’d insist.

In retrospect, you wonder if she really believed that, if she really believed that teddy bear would one day be a baby that you’d be the one carrying, and she’d be the proud grandmother.

“I told her I wanted to be a mom like her,” you explain to Joel, and he understands.

You know about Ellie, but not about Sarah. Joel never brings either of them up to you. Until now. It’s a fair trade, he tells himself. Photos for photos, info for info. But it’s more than that.

“Hold on for one minute, I’m gonna go get something, and I’ll be right back.”

It’ll only take him a second to grab the pictures, but he’ll need a moment to compose himself.

“This is Sarah,” he says, pointing to the little girl in the photo. “My daughter.”

You’re silent for a moment, gazing at the photo, at a younger Joel you’ve never met.

You’re the first person not to tell him that you’re sorry for his loss, and he is relieved not to hear the empty sympathies once more.

“What was she like?” you ask.

It’s hard to explain, and for that reason, he talks for at least a half hour about Sarah. All her likes and dislikes, all his favorite moments from the day she was born until the day she died. He tells the story of that too.

When you try to tell him that he sounds like he was a good dad, he has to explain why he wasn’t.

“I couldn’t save her,” he says.

“I couldn’t save her either,” you say, pointing to your mother in one of the photos.

“You were just a child,” he says. “It’s not your fault.”

“And, you were just a man,” you say. “It’s not your fault.”

“A grown man.”

“Doing the best that you could.”

And you’re right. He did try his best. He stops arguing not because he’ll ever concede but because the weight of the present falls upon him all at once as he meets your eyes and remembers why you’re here.

He can’t have Sarah back, he can’t have Ellie back, but you’re right in front of him — and he loves you. It’s too late to turn back and kick you out on your first day, it’s too late to never speak to you, it’s too late to not love you.

It’s not too late to fail you like he’s failed everyone else. It’s not too late to do the opposite either.

You tell him your decision, and wait for his disagreement, for him to dissuade you. But, he doesn’t.

“Okay,” he says.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to try my best.”

You cancel the appointment and make the final decision, but it doesn’t feel real until Joel finishes building the crib in the spare bedroom. The most unexpected part is how excited you feel even when you’re nauseous, even when your feet are bloated, even when your back is killing you.

You’re also terrified, particularly when you hear Maria’s account of her labor and delivery. For someone describing how painful it was, she seems oddly unfazed, happy even. She’s too focused on her baby boy, and you get it — he is pretty cute.

When the day comes, you find that you’ve underestimated the pain entirely. The wounds you’ve gotten in combat are nothing compared to this. Every hour that goes by feels like a full day for you. Every time the doctor checks your dilation it’s still not yet time.

Until it is. And everything becomes a million times more chaotic. You swear the only thing keeping you sane is Joel’s hand in yours. (You have to apologize later for squeezing it so tightly.)

Finally, the telltale cry comes, and it feels like you’ve run a marathon by how exhausted you are and by how proud you are of yourself for doing it. This will go down as the greatest feat of your life and you are more than satisfied with that fact.

The doctor announces that it’s a boy and though he said he’d be fine with either gender, Joel’s smile is wider than you’ve ever seen it. You’re smiling almost as big. It hurts your cheek muscles but you can’t stop, especially when they hand you your baby boy. Though he doesn’t know how to speak, his hand wrapped around your finger tells you that it’s going to be okay.

There is so much pain in this world, but not in this room.

[cigarettesuga]

꒰꒰⠀⠀⠀too good at pretending.⠀✸⠀(⠀ myg ⠀)

pairing: idol!fwb!yoongi x producer!fem!reader

genre: smut, slow-burn tension, hidden feelings, late-night studio rendezvous, slice of chaotic intimacy, mutual pining masked as indifference

warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), fingering, teasing, rough sex, oral tension, light dom!yoongi, semi-public sex, dirty talk, marking, overstimulation, slightly possessive behavior, soft aftercare if you squint, mutual denial of romantic feelings, mention of work-stress/mental fatigue, they’re both bad at feelings but good at sex

word count: 4.3 k

summary: it’s after midnight in a nearly-empty hybe building, and she’s still buried in deadlines and demos, jaw clenched and hands in her hair — until the only person who knows her chaos in silence shows up, just as worn out and just as emotionally unavailable. but when yoongi finds her in studio 3A, looking like she hasn't slept and biting down on her own frustration, the air shifts. and when he pulls her into his lap and tells her to be quiet if she doesn’t want the whole floor hearing — neither of them is thinking about feelings. only about relief. except everyone knows — even if they don’t say it out loud — they’re already each other's. just too damn stubborn to admit it.

lu's note: hey there i just wanted to pop up and say that requests are open, i'm on a writing spree and hopefully i'll update more regularly now that i'm almost done with the semester. i'd like to know if you want to see something abt any of the guys... just send a whisper ;)

⠀⠀⠀⠀m.list | latest

the building's nearly dead.

just the low hum of fluorescent lights and the distant echo of someone vacuuming in another hallway. most people had cleared out hours ago — normal people, anyway. the ones with boundaries. sleep schedules. lives.

but not them.

yoongi stretches his neck as he turns the last corner, a paper cup of half-warm coffee in his hand, and there she is.

exactly where he figured she’d be.

her back’s to him, shoulders tense, hands tangled in her hair like she’s trying to physically pull inspiration from her skull. he watches her for a second before saying anything — mostly because it’s kind of fascinating, the way her frustration makes him want to smile. not in a cruel way. more like... fuck, of course it's her. of course she's making herself crazy over something that probably already sounds better than half the shit on the charts right now.

he leans against the doorframe. takes a sip.

“you know you’re not getting paid overtime for this, right?”

she doesn’t jump. just groans without turning around. “don’t start, yoongi. not tonight.”

he chuckles, low and quiet. walks in.

“been trying to reach you.”

his voice is softer now, casual, like this isn’t the third time he’s walked past her empty studio earlier, pretending he wasn’t checking in. “thought maybe you finally ran off to join that noise-pop cult you keep threatening me with.”

“almost did,” she mutters, fingers flying over her keyboard. “but then this demo started sounding like a crime against humanity and i couldn’t leave it like that.”

he settles into the chair beside hers — not close enough to touch, but close enough to be there.

his usual spot.

“play it.”

she hesitates, chewing her lip, and for a second he thinks she’ll argue. but she presses spacebar and leans back, arms crossed.

the track fills the room — unpolished, raw, still bleeding at the edges. but there’s something real in it, something aching and sharp.

and he knows her well enough to hear the exhaustion between the beats.

the trying too hard.

it ends. silence settles.

he nods once. slow.

“doesn’t suck.”

she scoffs. “great. can’t wait to put that on the album review.”

his smirk twitches. “i mean. it doesn’t suck as much as i expected, considering you’re trying to mix in what sounds like a dying printer.”

her mouth drops open in fake offense, and he can’t help it — the corner of his lip lifts again, amused.

this. this is why he came. not because he needed to hear the track. not because he didn’t trust she’d get it done.

but because she looks like a goddamn hurricane when she’s like this, all untamed and brilliant and so deep in her head that it scares him a little.

and he knows the world doesn’t always get the calmer version of her. the one that leans into the quiet. the one that lets herself just be.

but she gives him that version. even when she’s falling apart. especially then.

“take a break,” he says gently, pushing the coffee toward her. “you’re spiraling.”

she looks at the cup, then at him.

and for just a second — just one — her eyes soften.

but then she rolls them. “you’re annoying.”

“you like it.”

“unfortunately.”

he doesn’t say anything to that. just sits there beside her, letting the silence stretch, letting her know she’s not alone — that even when she forgets how to breathe, he remembers. for both of them.

the moment’s quiet.

too quiet for how fast his pulse is moving.

he watches the way her shoulders rise and fall — clipped, uneven — like she’s trying not to fall apart, like holding herself still is the only thing keeping her from unraveling right there in the middle of waveforms and midi tracks. and that shouldn’t do anything to him. he tells himself that every single time.

but fuck, there’s something about seeing her like this — worn down, raw around the edges, still fighting anyway — that guts him more than he’ll ever admit out loud.

he takes a step closer.

then another.

and when he’s close enough to feel the heat of her back through her hoodie, he bends a little, eyes on the crown of her head.

presses his lips there — soft, brief. a barely-there kiss that shouldn’t mean anything but always does.

her hand twitches on the mouse.

he pretends not to notice.

instead, he lets his hands find her arms, slow and easy, fingers tracing lightly from her elbows to her shoulders and back again. not squeezing, not rushing — just being there. reminding her she’s not in this alone, not tonight. maybe not ever, even if neither of them will dare say it.

his mouth finds her hair again, this time to whisper, low and amused, “you keep this up and you’re not getting anywhere with the song.”

her breath stutters — a soft exhale.

and she leans back the tiniest bit, like her body knows something her pride won’t admit.

“maybe,” she says, voice quieter now, “i just need to relax…”

he hums, and it comes out more like a growl than a laugh.

his thumbs drag slow circles into her arms now, a little firmer.

not suggestive — not yet — just intentional.

“yeah?” he murmurs, mouth still ghosting against her hair. “you want help with that?”

there’s a pause. one of those heavy ones, where a whole universe of unsaid things pass between two people who keep pretending they don’t care.

she doesn't say yes.

she doesn't have to.

her body shifts back into him, barely-there contact that might as well be a plea. her eyes stay on the screen, like she’s still pretending this is about the music — like the way her thighs press together slightly isn’t an answer in itself.

he leans closer, lips a whisper away from her ear.

“say the word.”

his voice is lower now. soft, rough, dangerous.

and god, if she says it?

he’ll make her forget what stress even feels like.

her hands on his hips feel deceptively casual — light, teasing — but he feels the tremor beneath her fingertips. the tension riding up her spine even though her voice comes out cool, steady.

"you know i’ll say yes, right?"

he looks down at her, lips quirking into that crooked half-smile — the one that always makes her roll her eyes like she’s not secretly addicted to it.

"yeah," he murmurs, brushing his thumb over the top of her arm. "but consent is sexy. and i’m nothing if not respectful."

her laugh is soft, almost a sigh, but her eyes never leave the screen, like it’s some kind of anchor. or maybe a shield.

he knows how much she hates vulnerability.

knows how much she hides behind work.

but when she leans into him like that — trusting him, choosing him — it undoes something in his chest every single time.

"c’mon," she says, still in that whisper, glancing toward the studio door. "we can’t take too long… we don’t know who’s still on this floor."

and he wants to say, let them fucking hear,

but instead, he lets her guide him — lets her take control the way she always does when she needs to feel like she’s not drowning.

her hand slips into his, fingers cold from hours on the mouse, and he follows as she leads him toward the tiny couch in the corner of the room, worn down from too many late-night naps and occasional power plays like this.

he sits down first, legs open, arms resting on the back of the couch like he’s not already burning for her.

she stands in front of him, hair messy, hoodie half-zipped, pupils dark and pulled — and it takes everything in him not to reach for her right away.

but he doesn’t have to.

because she climbs onto his lap with no hesitation, knees bracketing his thighs, arms sliding around his neck like she’s done it a hundred times — like it’s muscle memory now.

and maybe it is.

he exhales, hands settling low on her waist as she leans in, their foreheads brushing for a moment. a charged pause.

“you good?” he asks, voice barely there.

her mouth tilts into a smirk that doesn’t reach her eyes — not yet — and then she kisses him.

it starts slow, all lips and warmth and quiet desperation. not rushed. not rough.

like they’re trying to remind each other that even in chaos, this is the one place they always come back to.

his fingers press into her back, her hips roll into his without even meaning to, and the tension between them unravels thread by thread.

her hands are in his hair now, tugging, anchoring herself as their mouths move together in sync — and he swears she tastes like frustration and espresso and whatever scent drives him fucking insane every time she walks past him in a hallway.

somewhere in the back of his mind, he hears the vacuum whir down the hall again. a reminder of where they are. who they aren’t supposed to be.

but it doesn’t matter right now.

not when she’s sighing into his mouth like this.

not when she’s melting into his chest like maybe she’s tired of holding the whole world up by herself.

he kisses her deeper — just once — before pulling back just enough to whisper against her lips,

“five minutes.”

she breathes a laugh, breathy and wrecked.

“we’re gonna need at least ten.”

his fingers curl into the waistband of her sweatpants, slow and deliberate — a quiet warning and a promise all in one. the fabric bunches beneath his grip, and he tugs just enough for her to feel it, to know what’s coming next.

but then —

the vacuum hums closer, louder, just outside the door.

they both freeze.

he leans in, lips brushing her ear now, voice low enough to blend with the rumble in the hall.

“you’ll have to be real quiet if you don’t wanna get caught, pretty girl.”

his voice does that thing to her — that husky drop, the weight of intention threading through every syllable. she shifts against him, hips tilting just slightly like her body’s answering before she can think, and that’s all he needs.

he helps her out of the sweatpants — slow and careful, keeping her steady as she steps out of them one leg at a time. it’s practiced, familiar, intimate in a way that makes the air in the room shift.

and then she’s back in his lap, straddling him again, bare thighs brushing denim, skin against skin with only a whisper of lace in between.

her hoodie’s still on. her converse are still on — something about that is stupidly hot, chaotic and casual like everything about her.

his hands trail up her thighs, thumbs skating along the edge of her underwear, a slow tease that makes her bite her bottom lip.

he leans back just enough to take her in — flushed cheeks, messy hair, mouth slightly parted, and that signature don’t fall for me look in her eyes that he knows is all smoke and mirrors.

“lace, huh?” he murmurs, fingertips brushing just under the hem of her panties. “you really didn’t plan on finishing that demo tonight.”

her nails dig into his shoulders in response — not enough to hurt, just enough to say shut up and keep going.

he grins, letting one hand slip up her hoodie, dragging his palm along warm skin, the curve of her waist.

“we’re on a clock, baby,” he whispers, thumb circling higher now, just barely grazing. “think you can stay quiet for me?”

and yeah, he says it like a challenge.

like he already knows she’s not gonna make it easy.

her breath catches — barely audible but unmistakable — as his thumb draws slow, lazy circles over lace. there’s nothing rushed about him, no urgency in the way he touches her. just quiet control. patience that only makes it worse.

or better.

depending on how you look at it.

she shivers under his hand, biting her lip so hard it might leave a mark, trying to keep it together even though her thighs are already trembling around his.

he smirks against the crook of her jaw, amused and maddeningly calm, as if they aren’t one thin wall away from getting caught, as if she isn’t already this undone and he’s barely even touched her.

“you’re shaking,” he whispers, breath hot against her skin. “and i haven’t even done anything yet.”

then his fingers slip under the lace — slow, deliberate — and she gasps, soft and sharp, her hands grabbing at his shoulders like they’re the only solid thing in the room.

he grins, lips brushing her cheek.

“uh-uh,” he murmurs, nudging his nose along her jaw. “remember what i said.”

she nods, swallowing hard, eyes glassy and unfocused.

and that’s when he guides her hand.

takes her wrist gently and brings it down, pressing her palm over his own hand, over the fingers teasing slow, torturous circles just where she needs them most.

“use my fingers,” he whispers, low and rough. “you know what you like.”

and she does.

her hand trembles as she starts to move — guiding him, hips rocking in quiet desperation. it’s messy, it's intimate, and so fucking real.

he lets her take control, but never lets go — his other hand pressing firm at the base of her spine, grounding her, holding her there, reminding her that she’s safe, she’s seen, she’s his — even if they’ll never say it.

every breath she exhales into his neck sounds like a confession.

every roll of her hips says i need you louder than words ever could.

and yoongi, voice barely audible, lips pressed to the shell of her ear, breathes out the one thing he knows will wreck her:

“that’s it, pretty girl. just like that.”

his breath is hot against her skin — ragged now, catching with every sound she makes, every tiny gasp she tries to swallow back like it’s not unraveling him completely.

his fingers move slower, deeper. stretching her gently, curling just enough to make her spine arch into him. he knows her body by now — every twitch, every soft curse under her breath, every time she presses her mouth to his shoulder to keep from moaning too loud.

she’s trying to be good. to be quiet.

and he’s not making it easy.

“so fuckin’ wet for me already,” he murmurs into her ear, voice low and dark and laced with a smile she can feel. “this what you needed, huh? not a break. just my fingers inside you while the whole building’s still awake.”

his lips trail down her neck, open-mouthed kisses that go from soft to claiming real quick — he sucks just under her jaw, enough pressure to leave a mark that won’t fade by morning. something she’ll complain about later with a smirk, trying to act like she’s mad, like she doesn’t love it.

she whimpers — the sound small and stifled, but there — and his teeth graze her skin right after.

“shh…” he soothes, lips brushing the red bloom he just left behind. “you’re doing so good, baby. so fuckin’ pretty like this, falling apart on my lap, hoodie on, shoes still on — god, you’re such a mess for me.”

his fingers stretch deeper now, his rhythm steady but ruthless — working her open while his free hand tightens on her hip, pulling her flush against him, letting her feel just how hard he is under her.

“you feel that?” he breathes out, grinding her down a little. “feel what you do to me?”

she nods, desperate, mouth parted and gasping — but he doesn’t stop.

he can’t.

not when she’s trembling like this, thighs twitching, hands clawing at his shoulders, his name falling off her lips in broken whispers she probably doesn’t even realize she’s saying.

not when she’s losing herself and still trying to hold it together, still trying to not moan loud enough to echo down the hall.

he kisses her collarbone, trailing down with slow reverence before whispering against her skin — filth laced in affection:

“come for me, pretty girl. be quiet if you can… but fuck, don’t hold back on my account.”

she’s trembling in his lap now — her entire body shivering with the aftermath of it, hips stuttering as she rides it out against his hand, making a mess all over his fingers, on his jeans, like she’s got nothing left to give.

but the way she’s gasping his name, barely even trying to be quiet anymore, the way her hands are still gripping his shirt like she’s starving — that’s when he knows.

she’s not done.

not even close.

"yoongi," she breathes, voice wrecked, pleading, pulling at his shirt now like she’ll unravel if he doesn’t do something now.

he kisses her jaw, quick, and helps her up without a word, hands strong and steady under her thighs as she finds her footing again, legs shaky, lips kiss-bitten and slightly parted.

“c’mon,” he says, voice low, firm, laced with need so thick it’s almost a growl. he turns her gently, guides her to lean over the back of the couch, her knees sinking into the worn cushions — and fuck, the sight of her like that?

it nearly undoes him.

she pulls off the hoodie in one smooth motion, tossing it somewhere behind her, hair falling wild and messy down her back. the black lace underwear’s still clinging to her thighs, barely pushed down, an afterthought now — and something about it makes his brain short-circuit.

he stands behind her, hands trailing down her spine, over the soft slope of her hips.

he could tease. he wants to tease.

but not now.

not when she’s already shaking for him, not when she’s arching her back just right, looking over her shoulder with that desperate, wrecked little expression that makes his cock twitch against his zipper.

he leans in, one hand sliding up her back, pressing down between her shoulder blades.

“you want it like this?” he whispers against her ear, hot and low.

she nods, frantic.

he barely tugs the underwear any further, just enough to expose her, to have her. he likes the way it looks bunched on her thighs, messy and rushed, like they never really had the patience to undress properly.

like they never do.

then he undoes his belt, the quiet clink loud in the stillness of the studio.

and just before he sinks into her, he leans down, pressing a kiss to the top of her spine, and mutters — low and reverent — like she’s the only thing he believes in,

“let me take care of you.”

his hands are rough now, no more of that slow build-up — it’s fast, all heat and urgency, all of it fueled by the risk, by how easy it would be for someone to walk by and hear the unmistakable sounds slipping out from under the door.

his fingers dig into the swell of her ass, spreading her open, thumbs pressing into skin like he owns it. he squeezes, slaps once — quick and sharp — just to watch her jolt forward on instinct, breath catching as she reaches for something to bite down on.

she grabs the old throw blanket folded lazily on the armrest — some gifted merch no one ever uses — and she sinks her teeth into it, moaning into the fabric like it’s the only thing keeping her from getting caught.

yoongi’s head falls back for a second at the sight of her like this — needy and wrecked and his, half-naked with her shoes still on, knees digging into a couch they’ve both crashed on too many times.

and he’s fast now. fucking into her like it’s the only thing tethering him to reality, low groans escaping his throat every time she clenches around him, every time her hips grind back like she’s just as desperate.

“look at you,” he pants, leaning in close, chest to her back. his hand tangles in her hair, not too hard, just enough to pull her head back so he can get to her ear, mouth brushing the shell of it. “biting that blanket like you don’t want the whole damn building to know how good i’m fucking you.”

she moans louder at that — muffled but loud — like the filth in his voice is winding her tighter.

“so fuckin’ needy,” he whispers, hips snapping into her, rhythm relentless. “you were practically begging for it, weren’t you? making a mess all over my hand, whining in my lap like a pretty little slut…”

he kisses the corner of her jaw, slow and messy.

"you think they’d still respect you if they saw you like this? bent over, drooling into a blanket while i fuck you stupid?"

her whole body shudders at that — hips twitching, back arching — and he grins, breathless.

“didn’t think so,” he murmurs, voice like velvet and smoke. “now be good, baby. stay quiet, take it all — and don’t you dare cum until i say so.”

yoongi swears under his breath, voice low and ragged, eyes locked on the slick, messy glide of her body swallowing him whole — over and over again. the mess she’s making of him, of herself, of the damn couch cushions. it’s obscene. it’s art.

he can’t look away.

the way her thighs tremble.

the slick sounds echoing in the tiny studio.

the blanket still caught between her teeth, now damp with spit and moans she’s too scared to let out.

it’s almost too much — almost.

he slows suddenly, pulls out with a slow drag that makes her gasp and arch back instinctively, trying to chase the friction.

but he’s already palming himself, thick and flushed and dripping — dragging the head of his cock right against her swollen clit.

“yoongi—” she breathes, voice high and strung out, hips bucking back, needing more — needing anything.

he grins, lazily, running himself along her, smearing her wetness in tight little circles. messy, filthy pressure, just enough to make her legs shake.

“fuck, look at this,” he groans, thumbing her open again just to see the way she twitches. “you’re so wet for me, pretty girl. making a goddamn mess all over my cock, and i haven’t even finished with you yet.”

he pushes in just the tip — enough to make her cry out into the blanket — and pulls back again to rub slow circles against her clit, dragging the head across her like he’s trying to brand her with it.

“you like that?” he murmurs, watching her hips try to press back into him. “like how it feels when i tease you like this? you want more?”

she nods desperately, a muffled please slipping out around the fabric in her mouth, and it’s so sweet, so fucking perfect, it makes his grip on her hair tighten just a little.

“you’re gonna lose your mind if i don’t give it to you, huh?” he growls, circling her clit again, wet and hot and just enough to make her shake. “but i like watching you fall apart like this. so messy, so loud without even saying a word.”

he leans in close again, lips ghosting over her ear, voice lower than before — dangerous.

“keep that blanket right there, baby. ‘cause when i finally fuck you again… you’re gonna need something to scream into.”

he can feel it building — low in his spine, thick in his blood, the kind of tension that’s impossible to slow down once it starts burning through his veins. she’s soaked, her thighs trembling against his, back arching every time he drags himself over that perfect spot, and he’s dangerously close to losing it.

he pulls her up gently, not because he wants to be sweet — though he is, in his own way — but because he needs a better angle. needs to see her face, her wrecked little expressions. needs to feel her falling apart with him.

“come here,” he mutters, helping her shift, guiding her down onto her side, her legs curling slightly as he lays behind her. he hooks one arm under her knee, holding it up to keep her open, the other snaking around her waist to pull her flush against him.

and then he’s back inside her — deeper like this, slower for a second, but heavier, more intense.

“fuck, baby,” he grits, mouth pressed to the back of her neck, teeth grazing skin. “you’re so tight like this… you were made for this.”

she lets out a breathy, muffled moan — lips parted, eyes fluttering — and it’s so much, the intimacy, the sweat, the quiet gasps between them. the danger of getting caught still sharp in the background, echoing with every thrust.

he’s close — too close — and when she reaches behind her, fingers barely brushing his hip like she’s trying to pull him even deeper, that’s what does it.

“shit—” he groans, deep and rough, burying his face in her shoulder as he pulls out quickly, hand wrapping around himself.

in just a few rough strokes, he’s coming hard — hot and messy, thick spurts landing right across the black lace of her underwear still tangled around her thighs. he pants against her, forehead pressed to her back, hand steadying himself against her hip as the tremors run through him.

“fuck,” he whispers, breathless. “you’re gonna be the death of me.”

they’re still tangled like that — her on her side, flushed and slick, his cum cooling on her thighs and lace — when a knock slices through the air.

sharp.

loud.

too real.

they both freeze.

she shoots him a wide-eyed look over her shoulder, and yoongi curses under his breath as he scrambles for her hoodie, tossing it over her bare chest while trying to zip himself up with one hand.

“(y/n)-ssi?” a voice calls politely from the hallway. a young male staffer, probably an intern. “i was told to remind you about the morning meeting. they asked if you could check your email before you leave.”

yoongi presses a finger to his lips, mouthing don’t laugh when she lets out a wheeze and nearly chokes on it, face buried in the blanket again.

“thanks!” she croaks out after a second, voice not nearly as steady as she wants it to be. “i’ll check in a bit!”

silence. footsteps retreat. door remains mercifully shut.

yoongi leans down, pressing a kiss to her shoulder, voice smug and low and just as wrecked as she is.

“you owe me a new pair of jeans,” he murmurs.

“and maybe a warning next time you decide to look that fuckable in sweatpants.”

-quietly always, cigarettesuga.

[oikarma]

we keep this love in a photograph

pairing: lando norris x wolff!reader

summary: toto wolff's daughter and his golden boy, kimi antonelli. match in heaven, right? despite all the cute pics taken of you and kimi over the years, it turns out you might like boys behind the cameras more.

a/n: thank you sm for being my first request!! this was really cute and fun to write and i hope you like it.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

liked by kimi.antonelli, francolapinto and 770,341 others

y/nwolff: found a new photographer

view all 12,097 comments

olliebearman: idk what you're talking about p1 is nice but whoever was holding the camera in p3 did a horrible job

y/nwolff: yeah idk who that rat is 🤷‍♀️ must've snuck into the frame kimi.antonelli: why do you insist on hurting me

user1: soft launch??

user2: girl she's been posting him for years now we need real confirmation user3: but they'd look so cute together 🥺 user2: @/user2 that's what we've all been sayinggg

francolapinto: pfft what photographer i could do better

y/nwolff: take me out to dinner and we'll see user4: uh oh someone's never getting a mercedes seat user5: @/user4 PLEASE toto probably gave kimi his seat to make sure he'd treat y/n well franco might be getting a little something sent his way

user6: mother and the guy she's dating

user7: i literally love you y/n

lando: where's the "thank you lando for inviting me to this lovely dinner"

y/nwolff: i literally already repaid you 😒 lando: i guess i like calling in favors user8: they're so sibling coded

y/nscloset: immaculate style as always * liked by y/nwolff

totowolff_original: No drinking and driving.

y/nwolff: tell that to kimi i still don't have my license

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

liked by username1 and 530,192 others

f1gossipofficial: 5 years of kimiyn! our fav bestfriend duo - or maybe something more?

tagged: kimi.antonelli, y/nwolff

view all 7,006 comments

user1: confirmation whennn

user2: so basically they've been teasing us since the last decade??

user3: maybe they don't want it to affect kimi's public view? they might think toto has a preference for him cause of him and y/n user4: @/user3 well the two of them certainly aren't private about their friendship

user5: i need what they have 😭

user6: if only i was pretty and rich and toto wolff's daughter and my boyfriend was pretty and rich and a formula one driver who drove for my dad

user7: they never hard launched but the cutest couple on the grid frfr

user8: guys! my friend and i were passing by this paddle place near where she lives and she saw y/n and kimi going inside. he was carrying her stuff (bags, drink) for her while she was yapping at 3000 miles an hour and she was blushing so hard

user9: what a gentleman user10: drop the loc please i'll be signing up for a yearly membership

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liked by lando and 701,328 others

y/nwolff: guess who got his ass whooped

tagged: kimi.antonelli, lando

view all 9,125 comments

totowolff_original: No cursing, Y/N.

y/nwolff: sorry dad i just had to rub it in ☹️ y/nwolff: promise i won't do it next time

kimi.antonelli: i swear you hate me

y/nwolff: it's a hate love thing kimi kimi.antonelli: where is the love???? user1: IS THIS KIMIYN CONFIRMED

lando: guess who got her ass whooped

y/nwolff: idk not me lando: 🤨 ru sure about that user2: not them bickering again lmaoo

user2: yes girl get your man

user3: kimi trying to help y/n against lando was so cute

user4: RIGHT he was all heart eyes

user5: ofc the photographer she was talking ab last post was him

user6: kimi serving romcom tortured boy love interest

user7: the way i understood this immediately is concerning

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

liked by y/nwolff and 901,339 others

lando: nothing like a friendly match

view all 21,483 comments

user1: the way i thought that was his 🫣

user2: same girl same

user3: whoever took this photo needs a raise we're getting all the offseason lando content we need

user4: lando were you making sure kimi and y/n weren't getting too handsy

user5: poor guy having to thirdwheel

y/nwolff: nothing like a big ego

lando: you like it user6: hello?? why is it getting hot in here user7: @/user6 dont be weird they're like siblings user8: idk that was not a sibling comment...toto what are your thoughts on this

user9: hes so fine oh my god

mclaren: staying in shape during off-season i see

lando: aren't you proud of me admin

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

liked by y/nwolff, totowolff_official and 870,193 others

kimi.antonelli: bit of a downgrade

tagged: lando, y/nwolff

view all 7,034 comments

user1: lando what are you doing in the tags 😭

user2: check his stories, he was having dinner w y/n and kimi maybe they wanted to bike around the city together

user3: he looks so fine on that bike

mercedesamgf1: looking sharp today, kimi

kimi.antonelli: thanks! user4: it's the girlfriend effect

y/nwolff: yeah you had hair in the first pic

kimi.antonelli: why do i put up with you y/nwolff: because i'm fun 🫶 much love user5: y/n be nice to your man he's balding from the stress

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

liked by olliebearman and 270,145 others

f1gossipofficial: SPOTTED! kimi antonelli, y/n wolff, and lando norris spending time together during the off-season

view all 5,018 comments

user1: barbie and two kens

user2: i love how kimi is just in the background

user3: am i crazy or is this giving landoyn...like i can't unsee it

user4: and she's been posting him a lot recently.. user5: you're all crazy there's no way

user6: why is ollie in the likes

user7: she's so stunning

user8: giving mom, dad, and angsty teenager

user9: nono it's mother and son bonding while dad is on the phone user10: wtf is this family

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

liked by totowolff_official and 1,039,472 others

y/nwolff: we kiss a lot, hope this helps ❤️

tagged: lando

view all 40,193 comments

user1: my kimiyn heart...

user2: absolutely RADIANT

totowolff_official: You better not be in the McLaren paddock or start wearing orange all the time.

y/nwolff: but i have to show my boy support!! totowolff_official: You can do it in private. lando: i promise she will sir user3: DID HE JUST- user4: freaky ahh user5: toto's comments backfiring LMAOO

user6: oml that one girl on twt was right

supermaxmaxmax: I WAS!!! im not crazy!!!

user7: is this what kimi meant by being downgraded lolol

kimi.antonelli: yes i went from friend to furniture y/nwolff: stfu you're still my best friend he's just more than that lando: yeah i'm a lot to take in at once 😉 user8: ????????

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

lando has added to their stories

[caption: too busy to be holding the camera this time]

replies:

user1: lando why you gripping onto her like that

y/nwolff: woah i look so hot

lando: you are very hot

user2: mother and fatherr 🛐

user3: poor kimi 😭 having to thirdwheel and having to be photographer

kimi.antonelli: i'm doing god's work here

lando: either you're improving, or maybe you just have great subjects 😊

[lady-pug]

Lipstick Stamps

Summary: Bob doesn’t seem to think himself deserving of good things, such as a relationship, and you make it your personal mission to prove him wrong, one kiss at a time

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader

Word count: 3,4k

Warnings: self-esteem issues and feelings of unworthiness (on Bob's part); spoilers about the ending of Thunderbolts*

Notes: Hey people! I’m back, and this time writing for a new fandom! I’ve been an avid Marvel fan since I was a kid actually I’ve just never gotten around to writing for it before. BUT I watched Thunderbolts* and I, while I thought it would feed into my crush on Bucky and Yelena, I actually ended up falling in love with Bob. I think he deserves all the love in the world and decided to take matters into my own hands. I intend to write more for Bob and also for Bucky (I have a few ideas already) and maybe Yelena.

Thanks @fruityvampslayer for the prompt (also, requests are open, you can send requests and prompts anytime, it is greatly appreciated)!

I really hope you, dear reader, enjoy this and have fun while reading it. If you spot any mistakes, please feel free to warn me and I'll correct it right away, and feedback is always welcome and appreciated. I hope you truly enjoy this story.

There are no physical descriptions of the reader other than wearing makeup, and it can be read as any gender. Also, when describing the formal attire I tried to keep descriptions to a minimum so you can imagine what the reader is wearing.

Masterlist | Read on AO3

Bob had no idea how he ended up in this situation. He didn’t know what he did to even deserve to be in this situation at all. 

No, actually, that was a lie. He knew exactly how he ended up in this situation.

The day at the Watchtower had started out like any other: breakfast early in the morning with you and Alexei, the older man having a hard time keeping his voice at an ‘indoors’ level, as usual. Then a run around the block with Bucky even though Bob hated running as the supersoldier insisted he needed to stay active and in shape. After training with Bucky and Ava, followed by lunch with the whole team prepared by you and Alexei, Bob took a couple of hours to himself, reading a book you had recommended in his room. 

During the first few months living in the tower he would often isolate himself in his new room, away from everyone. It was safe, it was known to him. But then, little by little, he started opening up, first to you and Yelena, then to the rest of the team. Now, where first he would lock himself up in his room, he would make an effort to spend more time with each of his teammates, his friends. He would still retire to his room throughout the day, he did enjoy his alone time after all, but instead of locking his door and half dreading, half hoping someone would come looking for him, he would now leave his door slightly ajar, inviting anyone in should they search for him. Most of the time he hoped it would be you.

But then, just as he was about to start preparing everything for his biweekly afternoon tea with you, Yelena and, surprisingly, John, Valentina had come in a rush, her heels clicking against the floor as she gave instructions to Mel about dresses and ties, and called for an emergency meeting.

“What is this all about?” Yelena asked, her arms crossed and annoyance written all over her face.

“Well, the New Avengers have a gala with the investors tonight.” Valentina shrugged, all while Mel still typed away on her phone. 

Everyone but Alexei groaned, while Bob fiddled his thumbs nervously. 

“Again?” Bucky asked, exasperated.

“What, do you have something better to do on a Tuesday night?” Valentina mocked.

“As a matter of fact, yes.” you answered curtly “It’s movie night.”

Movie night. It started out in the first weeks of everyone living in the Watchtower. You had asked Bob if he wanted to watch a movie with you. Your explanation had been that it was this new horror movie that had just been released, and that you were normally too much of a scaredy-cat to watch it on your own. You were so full of shit and Bob could see right through it, he knew it was just an excuse to get him to join you. And yet he did it anyway. He had been right, as you ended up watching ‘The Lion King 2’ instead of whatever horror flick you had been planning (that is if you hadn’t lied about that as well). The following week you had invited him again, and the next, and on the week after that Yelena asked if she could join. Then Alexei. After a while it became a tradition between the whole team to watch a movie while eating pizza on Tuesday nights. 

“Oh, how cute.” Valentina mocked before turning serious once more “It’s non negotiable.”

Everyone started grumbling once more before she cut it off.

“Who do you think pays for all of this?” she gestured around “The maintenance of this place? The equipment you use on your missions? It certainly doesn’t all come from government grants, right Congressmen Barnes?”

Bucky, although still annoyed, looked away sheepishly, as Alexei tried hyping everyone up.

“Come on, it will be fun night!” he practically shouted, much to Yelena’s dismay. 

At the end of the day they couldn’t argue with Valentina, especially not after Mel casually mentioned it was an open bar and had free food. 

Bob was a little bummed at the change of plans but resigned himself to watching ‘Revenge Of The Sith' alone. Just as he was about to leave the briefing room, his head hung, he felt something tugging on his sleeve.

“Where do you think you’re going?” you asked, the corner of your lips turning up in a small smirk.

“I-I mean, you guys have to go get ready and all.” he shrugged “I don’t want to get in the way.”

Your smile softened, your fingers trailing down his arm and wrapping around his own. 

“You never get in the way, Bob.” 

His own lips betrayed him, for he smiled bashfully at you, looking at the floor. 

“Why don’t you come with us tonight?” you asked, hopefully. At least Bob hoped you sounded hopeful. God, he was so pathetic. 

“I don’t-” he cleared his throat “I mean, I don’t know.”

He knew he wasn’t like the rest of you. He wasn’t a supersoldier, like Bucky, Alexei and John, or could phase through walls like you and Ava. Hells, he could barely throw a punch like Yelena, and he couldn’t even use his powers without risking wiping out half the city. Not until he could get him under control.

“Come on, you heard Alexei, it will be fun!” you playfully elbowed him on the ribs “Besides you’d be saving me from a huge headache. Do you think I want to spend yet another evening rubbing elbows with a bunch of rich old men? Let the Congressmen do the talking this time.”

He tried, he really tried. It wasn’t really his scene anway. But he couldn’t say no to you. Not when you batted your eyelashes at him like that, soft yet cheeky grin on your lips, one hip cocked to the side oh so prettily-

Okay, he quickly shut down that line of thought before he said anything stupid.

But the way your face lit up when he eventually agreed was worth the few hours of him being stuffed in the uncomfortable suit you had requested Mel find for him last minute. 

By the time he was ready to go he was feeling kind of anxious, waiting, hoping for you to show up, second guessing your invitation all together. But when you did show up…

You looked… breathtaking was the only word he could use to describe you. Your hair looked fancily put together, and your elegant outfit was so form fitting he had to stop himself from downright ogling at you. And the way that red lipstick suited you, he couldn’t keep his eyes off your mouth. Not in a creepy way, of course. He hoped.

“Don’t you clean up nicely!” you mentioned as you stopped in front of him, fixing up his crooked tie.

He smiled. You always made him feel so safe, so normal. 

“You’re one to talk.” he tried joking back to you, but to his own ears he sounded so lame. But it worked, at least to some degree, for you averted your gaze, a small bashful smile spreading across your face.

“So, are you ready to go?” you asked after a moment.

“Yeah.” he nodded, but it was a lie. He was anything but ready. He was so nervous. 

And yet… he actually found himself having fun! You stuck by his side the whole night, even after he said you didn’t have to refrain from having a good time for his sake.

“Has it ever occurred to you, Bob, sweetheart,” you smiled, gently “that I actually like spending time with you?”

He couldn’t help the way his cheeks flushed at your words, his heart beating so fast in his chest. He didn’t dare question you again.

At one point in the night, though, some soft, slow music started playing on the speakers and it was like all attendees and their plus ones started flocking to the dancefloor. 

After a few beats of you both staring at the people dancing he glanced at you, trying to appear nonchalant.

“Don’t you wanna go dance with someone?” he asked, and for a moment he could swear your face lit up in a hopeful expression before you quickly schooled it back to your neutral look.

“Nah, I’m good. I have two left feet, if you know what I mean.” you chuckled, and he laughed along with you. 

He glanced longingly at the dancefloor, all of them couples having fun together. 

“What’s on your mind?” he startled, not expecting to find you staring at him still.

“How nice it must be.” he mumbled after a beat “To have someone.”

It was your turn to stare at all the people before turning back to him.

“Yeah, I guess so.” you smiled softly at him, but it felt… off. There was a downturn to your lip that almost resembled a frown “You’ll find someone one day, Bob, I’m sure you will.”

He shook his head, a sad smile growing on his face.

“I’m not sure that’s on the cards for me.”

Your face fell in confusion. 

“What do you mean?” you asked, almost as if you were personally insulted by this.

“I mean, I don’t think I deserve something like that, you know. Not after everything.” he sighed, shoulders dropping “And besides who could possibly want someone like-”

He could see the exact moment your face hardened as you took a step towards him, cutting him off mid sentence.

“Someone like what?” you asked, voice low and, dare he say, menacing.

Now he was afraid to say it. You looked mad, and the last thing he had wanted was to upset you. But in Bob’s eyes it was true. He was a loser, he couldn’t even help the team properly as of yet, and he had almost killed everyone including you. He couldn’t possibly fathom how anyone, much less someone as cool and kind and badass like you, could be into him.

“Someone like, you know, me.” he confessed.

And that’s how he ended up here.

Your back had straightened, face cold and unreadable as you reached for his hand and yanked him after you. He started mumbling apology after apology, stuttering profusely as he tried to make sense of where you were going.

As it turned out you pulled him away from the dancefloor and out of the building completely, ditching the rest of the team as you quickly hauled a cab.

“Get in.” you said, a sudden yet gentle tug for him to get in the backseat after you.

Your hand didn’t let go of his hand until you were both out of the car and inside the Watchtower. You dragged him all the way to the residential level, only letting go so you could make a quick stop in your room to grab something he couldn’t quite figure out before you were leading him to his own room. He had half a mind to push the door closed behind him once you both entered, still uneasy about having made you angry even though he didn’t quite know what he did wrong.

“I-I’m so sorry, I-”

You didn’t let him finish, swiftly heading to his bathroom with a short “make yourself comfortable” thrown over your shoulder.

His mind was reeling. What had just happened? He pondered over the events of the evening, trying to sort them out in his head as he toed off his loafers. One moment you two were fine, joking around with one another and then… 

He ruined everything, a nagging voice spoke from deep within his mind as he  removed his blazer and carefully folded it. He made you angry, forcing you to abandon the gala and bring him to the tower, now you were going to leave him here, and go back there and finally have the fun night you had been promised and…

Just as he was just loosening his tie and popping the collar button open you stormed back in, and before he could get even a word out you lightly shoved him backwards by the shoulders.

“Listen here, Bob.” your voice was low, raspy even. While your makeup was still untouched you had changed into an oversized, comfy looking band tee, and had he not been mortified over having put his foot in his mouth he wouldn’t be able to tear his eyes away from you now exposed thighs “I won’t stand by and listen to you talk like that about yourself. I won’t accept it, I won’t allow it.”

Your last words were punctuated by a firm shove, making the back of his knees hit the mattress. He tripped over his own feet, falling on his butt on the bed.

“B-But it’s true.” 

A sigh of disappointment left your lips and he wanted to look away, hide in his own shame, but before he could even react you were climbing onto his lap, both legs extended on each side of his torso and hands placed carefully on his shoulders.

“No it isn’t, Bob.” both your face and your tone softened, your hands travelling up to cup his cheeks gently yet firmly, forcing him to keep his eyes on you “I just wish you could see yourself the way I see you, love.”

Somewhere along the way his heart had practically stopped beating altogether. He didn’t know if it was your words or the position you found yourselves in but something made his breath hitch in his chest. Had you not been looking at him so reverently, like he hung all the stars in the sky, he was positive you’d have laughed at him, both his hands up like he was being held at gunpoint, not knowing where to place them, and a deep blush dusting his cheeks.

“Anyone would be lucky to have you.” you smiled softly then, and he felt a shiver run down his spine.

He smiled back at you, but it didn’t match your own. No, his smile was sad, almost like he was pitying you.

“I don’t know if that’s true.” he whispered, not only to you but to himself.

Your eyes shifted, determination shining in them, but it wasn’t hard like before, it was warm and resolute. Then, without looking away from him, you slowly touched your forehead against his. 

“I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to convince you otherwise, if you let me.” you spoke softly, your breath fanning against his lips “Tell me to stop, tell me you don’t want this and I’ll walk out that door and we can pretend this never happened.”

His entire body was trembling with restraint. 

“I don’t deserve it.” he rasped out, scared “I don’t deserve you.”

Once his words registered in your mind you couldn’t hold back any longer, pulling his face towards you. But where he thought your lips would settle over his own, he felt you place a delicate kiss on his right cheek. 

“That’s not true, love.” you whispered against his skin.

He wanted to. God, did he want to. But he shook his head, feeling a knot in his throat.

“I don’t know how.” he whimpered.

Ever so slowly you moved to his other cheek, placing yet another warm kiss on his skin.

“Neither do I, to be honest. We’ll learn together.”

His hands settled on your waist then, some of the resistance leaving him. You took this as a sign to keep going and, with a soft pull on his jaw, bowed his head so you could place a peck on his forehead, and another one on the tip of his nose.

“Let me show you how much you mean to me.” 

Something in him snapped. Tears brimmed in his eyes as he searched your own, for what he wasn’t sure. A sign that you were lying? You wouldn’t. Reassurance? Perhaps. But he just knew that whatever it is you were offering him, you meant it.

“Please.” he whispered in a broken whine.

All you needed was a single word to unleash all you had been holding back, tightening your hold on his face and moving his head to your liking. Your lips were everywhere, on his cheeks, his forehead, his nose, his chin, his neck, his ears, his temple, his jaw, even his own lips. Anywhere you could reach, gone were the featherlight kisses from before, replaced with fierce yet gentle ones, with enough pressure to leave his skin tingling. It was like you were trying to kiss every bad thought and insecurity out of his system. He knew that you knew it didn’t work like that, but damn if you weren’t going to try.

He felt like he was melting, right then and there on his own bed, his head airy and light and, for once in his life, quiet. His limbs felt heavy, his grip tightening ever so slightly on your waist, hands slipping down to your hips.

Your words weren’t helping his case either. After every caress of your lips on his skin you’d say something that left his heart soaring. 

“You are so strong, love. So brave.” he didn’t believe that most days, but the way you said it made him just the tiniest bit inclined to agree.

“You’re such a handsome man. A pretty, pretty boy.” he knew he didn’t hold a candle to the likes of Bucky, but if you were saying it there must be some truth behind it, right?

“So warm. And solid and real. You’re real, Bob.” he didn’t quite know what to make of that but coming from you it must be a compliment.

He didn’t want it to end. Perhaps the world, his world, could be summed up to this moment, right here. He never wanted to leave his room if it meant having you, like this, being in your hold and under your spell forever. Now that he finally had this he didn’t want to let it go. But, he guessed, all good things must come to an end. 

“So this is where you kids ran off to!” Alexei’s booming voice sounded from the corridor, startling Bob and making you sigh in annoyance.  

The door. In his haste earlier Bob had completely forgotten to close his bedroom door. And now, all the other Thunderbolts were standing in the doorway looking several different degrees of smug.

“Come on guys, let’s leave the lovebirds alone.” Yelena ushered them, not before throwing a wink at Bob, much to his embarrassment. 

Just as the last of them disappeared down the hallway and Bob’s shoulders finally relaxed, Walker backtracked and poked his head back on the doorway.

“Oh, by the way, you have something on your face, Bob.” he said, making a circular motion all over his face “Right around here.”

“What?!” Bob squeaked, practically throwing you on the bed as he rushed to the bathroom. There, in the mirror, was his own reflection staring back at him, his entire face and neck covered in red lipstick marks, all in the exact shape of your lips. 

“Oh, come on!” he saw you in the mirror running to the door of his bedroom and peering out into the hallway before shouting “Yelena! You promised me this one was transfer proof!”

Bob should be mortified. Don’t get me wrong, he definitely was. But he was also… happy. Overjoyed, in fact. So much so he started giggling in front of the mirror, both from your antics and from his appearance. His giggles turned into hearty chuckles and then into full blown laughter, his whole body shaking from the force of it. You came to check up on him, a small embarrassed smile of your own stretching across your lips, which he noticed were still painted in a now smudged shade of red.

“What’s so funny, huh, mister?” you asked playfully, to which he couldn’t resist holding your chin in his fingers, his thumb rubbing a smear of lipstick from the corner of your mouth and placing a kiss of his own on your lips.

“Thank you.” he breathed it once he pulled away.

You shrugged, holding onto his wrist to keep him from pulling away entirely. 

“You deserve it, Bob.”

It was still hard to hear. It made something itch inside him, like it was bubbling to come out and deny it, destroying this little bit of happiness he had forged for himself. He knew it would take a while, a long while, until he actually believed it, and that there would be days when it would be harder to believe you than others, but maybe, just maybe, this could be a start.

“Yeah.” he grinned, feeling like he probably looked like a lovesick puppy “Maybe I do.”

[little-jana]

"The Baby Glimmer"

Pairing: husband!Aaron Hotchner x wife!reader

Genre: fluff

Words: 4.4k

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy, wanting a baby, heated/romantic fade-to-black intimacy, kissing

Summary: Where Aaron gets baby fever.

a/n: Well, since most of you voted for 2nd person writing, I'll try that from now on.

The first time you noticed it, you didn’t think much of it.

Aaron and you were walking through the mall one rainy Saturday afternoon, grabbing a few things for Jack’s school project. He’d been in need of some craft supplies and, as usual, Aaron wanted everything to be perfect.

You were strolling past a baby boutique on the way to the bookstore when Aaron slowed to a stop. He glanced at the window display—a collection of tiny onesies and soft teddy bears arranged artfully—and a soft, almost wistful smile crept across his face.

You stopped beside him, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

He gestured to a fluffy teddy bear in the center of the display, its bowtie slightly askew. “That’s cute,” he said simply. “Babies would love it.”

You blinked. Aaron Hotchner, notorious for his stoic demeanor, commenting on teddy bears?

“Yeah,” you replied, eyeing him suspiciously. “It’s… adorable.”

Aaron nodded, his hand briefly brushing against yours before he turned back toward the bookstore. “Come on,” he said over his shoulder, his voice calm and measured as always.

You stared after him for a moment, a small smile tugging at your lips. Maybe he was just in a good mood.

---

Then there was JJ’s baby shower.

Aaron had insisted on going. “She’s family,” he’d said when you asked him about it. “It’s important to support her.”

And support her he did.

He spent the entire afternoon helping set up decorations, arranging tiny cupcakes on trays, and offering to hold the baby while JJ unwrapped gifts. It was… unexpected, to say the least.

At one point, you caught him holding JJ’s newborn, his expression so soft it made your chest ache. He was cooing gently, his deep voice low and soothing as he rocked the baby in his arms.

You tried not to stare. You really did. But the sight of Aaron Hotchner—gruff, protective, usually all-business—cradling a baby like it was the most natural thing in the world was enough to make anyone’s heart skip a beat.

“Wow,” Emily whispered, nudging you with her elbow. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Hotch has baby fever.”

You laughed, brushing off the comment. “Please. He’s just being nice.”

But even as you said it, you couldn’t ignore the way your stomach fluttered when Aaron caught your eye across the room and smiled.

---

It wasn’t just JJ’s baby. It was everywhere.

You were at the grocery store one evening when it happened again. You had split up to cover more ground, and found him standing in the baby aisle when you came to find him.

“Aaron?” You asked, raising an eyebrow as you approached.

He looked up, a faint blush creeping up his neck as he held up a tiny pair of baby shoes. “Look at these,” he said, his voice softer than usual. “They’re so small.”

You stared at him, your heart doing that annoying fluttering thing again. “Uh… yeah,” you said slowly. “Babies tend to have small feet.”

Aaron chuckled, setting the shoes back on the shelf. “Right. Of course.”

You watched him for a moment, suspicion creeping in. Something was definitely up.

---

The team noticed it, too.

“He’s acting weird,” Derek said one afternoon, leaning back in his chair as he sipped his coffee.

“Weirder than usual?” Emily quipped, smirking.

“No, like… softer,” Derek replied, gesturing toward Aaron’s office. “Have you seen the way he’s been with JJ’s baby? Or how he’s been staring off into space lately? It’s like he’s distracted by something.”

Emily glanced at you, her eyebrows raised. “Any idea what’s going on with him?”

You shrugged, playing dumb. “No clue. Maybe he’s just tired.”

But even as you said it, you couldn’t ignore the way Aaron had been looking at you lately—the way his eyes lingered just a little longer than usual, the way he reached for your hand more often, the way his touch was softer, more deliberate.

---

It all came to a head one quiet evening at home.

Jack was asleep, and Aaron and you were curled up on the couch, a movie playing in the background. You’d been watching him out of the corner of your eye all night, trying to piece together what was going on in that brilliant, complicated mind of his.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Aaron,” you said, turning to face him.

He looked down at you, his dark eyes warm and attentive. “Yes?”

You hesitated, searching for the right words. “You’ve been… different lately. Distracted. Is everything okay?”

Aaron’s brow furrowed slightly, and for a moment, you thought he was going to brush it off. But then he sighed, his shoulders relaxing as he reached for your hand.

“There’s something I’ve been thinking about,” he admitted, his voice low and steady.

You nodded, encouraging him to continue.

“It’s just… seeing JJ with her baby, and watching Jack grow up… It’s made me think about us. About our future.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you felt a blush creeping up your neck. “What about our future?”

Aaron’s thumb brushed over the back of your hand, his touch warm and comforting. “I’ve been thinking about having another baby. With you.”

His words hung in the air between us, and for a moment, you couldn’t speak.

“A baby?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He nodded, his eyes searching yours for a reaction. “I know it’s a big decision, and I don’t want to pressure you. But I can’t stop thinking about it. About what it would be like to build a family with you.”

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, and you felt a lump forming in your throat.

“Aaron,” you began, your voice trembling. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

He cupped my face in his hands, his gaze filled with love and hope. “You don’t have to say anything right now. Just think about it. That’s all I’m asking.”

You nodded, leaning into his touch as tears spilled down your cheeks. You loved this man so much.

---

Over the next few days, you couldn’t stop thinking about Aaron’s words.

You watched him more closely than ever, noticing the way he doted on Jack, the way he smiled whenever you passed by a baby in the park, the way he held you just a little tighter at night.

And the more you thought about it, the more the idea began to take root in your heart.

It was a week later, during a quiet evening at home, that you finally found the courage to bring it up again.

You were sitting at the dining table, finishing the last of your dinner, when you set your fork down and looked at him.

“Aaron,” you said softly.

He glanced up, his expression instantly attentive. “Yes?”

You took a deep breath, your fingers nervously twisting the hem of your shirt. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. About having a baby.”

His eyes softened, and you saw the faintest glimmer of hope in his gaze. “And?”

You smiled, your heart pounding as you reached for his hand. “And… I think I want that, too. With you.”

Aaron’s face lit up, a smile spreading across his lips as he squeezed your hand.

“You have no idea how happy that makes me,” he murmured, his deep voice warm and full of unspoken emotion.

You laughed through the tears welling in your eyes, unable to look away from the sheer adoration in his gaze. “I think I do,” you said softly, brushing your thumb over his knuckles.

Aaron’s other hand reached up, his fingertips tenderly brushing a stray tear from your cheek. “You’re really ready for this?” he asked, his tone quiet and reverent, like he didn’t want to break the fragile bubble of this moment.

You nodded, your throat tight with emotion. “With you? Yes. A thousand times yes.”

His dark eyes softened even further, the kind of look that always made you feel like you were the only person in the world to him. He kissed you then—slow and deliberate, pouring every ounce of love and gratitude into the motion.

When he finally pulled back, you noticed the faintest mischievous glint in his eye, something you rarely saw but secretly adored. His lips quirked into a small, almost playful smile.

“Well,” he said, his voice dropping just slightly, “if we’re going to have a baby… shouldn’t we start practicing?”

You blinked at him, stunned for half a second before a breathless laugh escaped your lips. “Oh, really?” you teased, tilting your head as you looked at him. “You don’t waste any time, do you?"

His grin widened just a fraction as he leaned closer, his thumb tracing slow circles over the back of your hand. “Why would I, when we could make this moment count?” His voice was a low rumble now, filled with a heated edge that sent a shiver down your spine.

The air between you shifted—charged and electric, crackling with the kind of tension that made your pulse race.

“Aaron…” You whispered, your voice catching in your throat as he cupped your cheek, his touch so gentle yet so deliberate.

“Yes?” he murmured, his lips brushing against the corner of your mouth, teasing you with just the faintest ghost of a kiss.

You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips, your hands sliding up to rest against his chest. “You’re not playing fair.”

He hummed low in his throat, his other hand settling on your waist, pulling you just a little closer. “I don’t plan to.”

The next kiss wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful. It was full of unspoken promises and barely contained need, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that made your knees weak.

You gasped as he shifted, lifting you effortlessly into his arms as though you weighed nothing. Your hands tangled in his shirt as he carried you toward the bedroom, his lips never straying far from yours.

[frenchkisstheabyss]

♡ Wondering ♡

♡ Pairings: frat boy!mingi x chubby!fem!librarian!reader

♡ Genre: angst/fluff/smut

♡ Summary: While working your job at the campus library you find that the most popular guy on campus has developed quite the crush on you. Thinking that it's some sort of prank, you dismiss him completely but Mingi has his heart set on making you his and isn't content to give up that easily.

♡ Word Count: 4.5k-ish

♡ Warnings: mingi really develops a thing for chubby girls, reader has body insecurities, body worship, kissing, male masturbation, porn, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, a lil hair pulling, a lil rough sex for a sec, technically cum marking, pet names (baby), but otherwise fluffy

♡ A/N: This is a fic I wrote for a super adorable anon and as always I'm super honored that you even asked me to write this my love. I truly hope that I did your idea some justice and you enjoy it. To all the chubby babes out there who may read this, you're a bad bitch, I swear to you, and if anyone tells you otherwise I'll swing on em. Kay, love you, bye - xoxo

Nothing. Mingi strokes his cock—his palm gliding up and down his length, his thumb circling the rim—and he feels absolutely nothing. Lying in the darkness of his bedroom, the warm glow of light emanating from his phone illuminates the frustration on his face. His gaze lazily dances across the screen where a woman lies naked, a sex toy vibrating between her thighs. She’s in his favorite position, making his favorite noises, but he can’t get off on it.

Giving up, he lets out a groan, throwing his head back on his pillow. It’s been weeks of this. He’s been too horny to function but when the time of action comes he can only get halfway hard and nothing feels the same as it used to. Maybe a different video will help. Bringing his phone in close to his face, he scrolls through the recommended videos. His cock still in his hand, he feels it soften into a sad, floppy thing the further down he scrolls.

Just as he’s about to call it a night, prepared to at last put himself out of his misery, something catches his eye. An image of a naked woman spread across a bed, her plush body fully exposed. She’s bigger than other girls he’s seen naked in porn, even in real life. She’s chubby and soft with shimmering gloss on her lips and stretch marks on her thighs. His breath hitches at the sensation of the blood rushing down his length as he takes her in.

His interest officially piqued, he clicks into the video and watches her in action. He’s hypnotized by the way she bounces and jiggles, every motion of her body too perfect to comprehend. The skin pulls tight around his cock, beads of arousal rolling down the tip as he quickens his movements. His bottom lip catches between his teeth, an attempt at choking back the low groans fighting their way up his throat at the sight of juices moistening the woman’s soft thighs.

Seeing her hits him with a rush of something unfamiliar. Something that has his stomach muscles contracting and his mouth watering. His mind goes wild with thoughts of what it’d be like to touch her, to feel her body trembling against his. What he wouldn’t give right now to grip a belly like that or drag his tongue across the plush of her ass. It’s exhilarating, unlike anything he’s ever felt before. His cock grows so sensitive that he’s twitching with every stroke. 

Any care for if his roommates can hear him flies out of the window as a dizzying heat washes over him, the veins along his length throbbing as a waterfall of white shoots up onto his stomach. His phone drops onto the bed and he lets out a pitiful whimper, his eyes clung shut as he gives in to an orgasm so strong it makes his muscles weak. He’s so high from it that he fears he’ll never come down. Breathless, his skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat, he sits up in bed and flicks the light on to see what a mess he’s made of himself.

His eyes drift back to his phone where a suggestion for a similar video calls him. He takes a deep breath, feeling his cock stiffening again so soon. Mingi picks his phone up, his thumb hovering over the Next button. It’s 3am and in a few hours Yunho will be banging on his door to go to football practice. He should get his shit together, clean himself off, and go to sleep. But that rush was so unexpected, so utterly delicious. He slips back down into bed, hitting the Next button. He needs more.

“Whoa, there’s so many books here” Mingi gasps, staring up at the tall cherry wood shelves of the sprawling library. 

Mingi’s seen this place in pictures before—this marble palace with its sky high shelves and expertly crafted pillars—but in all his years on campus he’s never stepped foot in it. Nothing in this literary maze ever interested him enough to require a visit. His college career has always depended more on athletics and frat politics than it has books.

Most of his professors were more than content to give him a passing grade simply because of who he is. A stroke of luck that ran out the moment a new Women’s Studies professor stepped foot on campus. She’s set out to challenge him, to make him work for his grades if he actually wants them. A true tragedy if he’s ever been faced with one. 

“Duh, it’s full of books. It’s literally a library” Yunho laughs, plopping a small stack of books into Mingi’s arms. “I grabbed everything you need except one. The Vagina Monologues. You’re gonna have to go ask one of the librarians for help.” 

Mingi winces at the thought of the title leaving his lips and falling on a complete stranger’s ears, “Why’d it have to be called that?”

“Oh, stop being a child” Yunho huffs, catching a glimpse of a young woman pushing a cart of books past the aisle. “There! Go ask her!”

Mingi hesitates a moment but Yunho shoves him forward, “Off you go.” 

Stumbling his way down the aisle, Mingi traces the sound of squeaky cart wheels a few rows over, stopping dead in his tracks when his gaze finds the woman pushing it. She wears a flowy, pear colored dress with white lilies printed all over it. It’s long enough not to scandalize the other library staff but short enough to get a glimpse of where her thighs begin to kiss. From behind Mingi can clearly make out her shape in it, the plushness of her figure bringing to mind things he definitely shouldn’t be thinking about in the library. 

Humming along to a song in her head, she turns to place a book on one of the shelves and Mingi’s cheeks begin to burn. She’s the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. He’s said that about a lot of girls and never meant it but with this one it’s different. She has eyes that twinkle like sunshine dancing on the surface of some gorgeous lake. The curve of her nose is nothing short of perfection and her lips look like they taste of the sweetest sugar. 

“Can I help you with something?” you ask. The way he stares at you makes you feel more like an animal in some zoo than the object of his affection.

Mingi shakes himself out of his daze, lowering the stack of books down to cover the slight rise in his jeans. “Uh…I…yeah…um” he stutters. 

“Uh, I, yeah, um?” you tease, grabbing another book and sliding it onto a nearby shelf, “I don’t think we have that one.” 

“Who are you?” he spits out as if that’s a completely normal question to ask someone when you’re the one who approached them. 

“That’s a really weird question to ask someone, Mingi.”

“Wait, you know me?”

You giggle at the absurdity of such a question, “Of course I know you. Everyone knows you.” 

Mingi thinks about it for a second, the reality of his popularity setting back in. “I guess you’re right. I am pretty popular.”

The grin on his face makes you nauseous. Of course you know him. And of course he doesn’t know who you are. Mingi’s from a whole different world and you’re positive girls like you don’t exist where he comes from. Rolling your eyes, you grab back onto the handle of your cart, “If there’s nothing you need…” 

“Vagina!” he says, leaving you both stunned to the core, “I mean, monologues. Vagina Monologues. It’s, like, a book or whatever. Fuck it, are you busy tonight?” 

A whisper of laughter drifts down the aisle, giving away Yunho’s presence. He’s never seen his best friend crash and burn this hard. Keeping a straight face isn’t an option. Yunho’s laughter may not be meant for you but it feels like it is. The first time a guy like Mingi talks to you and of course it had to be a joke. 

“Second floor, in the Plays section, under E for Ensler” you snap, turning your back before you die of embarrassment right before Mingi’s eyes. 

“Wait, can I at least get your name?” Mingi calls out but you’re already pushing your cart down the aisle, disappearing around the next corner without another word. 

Yunho slaps a hand on Mingi’s shoulder, shaking his head in disappointment, “Who’s your new friend?”

Mingi sighs longingly, his gaze still lingering where you once stood, “I don’t know but I plan to find out.” 

Sometimes when you find yourself working nights at the library you feel like Cinderella. A slave to these old dusty books, forced to clean and organize them until your manicure begins to chip while other girls are out at bars or parties. Only there’s no fairy godmother to come wave her magic wand and turn your pumpkin into a carriage. There’s no glass slipper and certainly no Prince Charming to sweep you off your feet.

Still, you need the extra money so there’s nothing to be done about it. Taking a seat at the front desk you check the time, it’s almost time to close up shop and the last few stragglers are packing up their things to head out. Once they’re gone things should be peaceful. No questions, no interruptions, no one getting on your nerves. 

“Have you been avoiding me?” Mingi asks, popping up in front of your desk. 

“Oh my god!” you gasp, clutching your chest, “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Kill you? How could I ever hurt a girl as pretty as you?” he says in that cocky tone you’ve become accustomed to. 

It’s been weeks since your first run in with Mingi and he’s been relentless ever since. He stops by every shift to ask you some silly question that somehow always turns into yet another attempt at flirting with you. You shoot him down every single time but he never seems offended or discouraged. He just keeps coming back all bright eyed and full of energy like a golden retriever. You’ve gone home every night wondering what his motivations are. Why’s he being so persistent? 

Sometimes for the hell of it you let yourself play with the idea that he might actually be attracted to you. Mingi is drop dead gorgeous after all and, even though you refuse to laugh at any of his stupid jokes, you find him pretty charming. For all his cockiness, he’s sweet in a way that makes you wonder what it might be like to be truly adored by a guy like him. This little fantasy of yours is always disrupted by the vision of Yunho laughing at the two of you. It’s a joke, that’s all, a stupid joke that Mingi’s cruel for not knowing when to give up on. 

“Aren’t you sick of coming here?” you ask, pretending to be busy on the laptop, “There must be something else you can entertain yourself with.”

Mingi smiles down at you, fawning over how your skin glows in the shreds of sunset that peek through the windows. “There is actually. I’m having a party tonight and I want you to come.”

Your eyes shoot open, an involuntary burst of joy hitting you. “A party?” you ask, sounding more excited than you intended to. Catching yourself, you reel back the excitement but it’s too late, Mingi’s already caught it. 

“Yeah, a party” he says, reaching behind the desk to grab a pen and a sticky note. He scribbles down the address and sticks it to your laptop screen. “Tell me you’ll come.”

He sounds so genuine when he says that. It’s almost as if he’s truly desperate to have you around. You look up at his face and feel the butterflies in your stomach go into a frenzy. You’ve heard the way other girls talk about him, the way they swoon over him like he’s this magical thing. You don’t want to be one of them, just another girl pining after Song Mingi but here you are. 

You clear your throat, snatching the blue sticky note from your screen, and putting it aside. “I don’t really know if I wanna spend my Friday night with a bunch of wasted pretty boys.”

“Ooh, so you do think I’m pretty” Mingi blushes, batting his eyelashes. 

You pick up a stapler, threatening to throw it at him, “Leave now and maybe, just maybe I’ll consider coming to your little party.”

Mingi throws his hands up, carefully backing away from the desk, “Fair enough. I’m wearing all black by the way. In case you wanted to, ya know, match or something.”

You wind your arm back, placing it in perfect formation to hit him in the head with the stapler. Mingi gets the message and scurries out of the door, leaning his head back in for a split second to whisper, “See you later, beautiful.” He winks at you and you groan but he’s gone now and there’s no one left to take your anger out on.

As the last few visitors trickle out you find yourself sitting in the silence of the library, that blue sticky note calling your name. You pick it up, swearing you’ll toss it in the trash but you only stare at it, reading the address over and over again. Some stupid frat party with a bunch of stupid boys at some frat house on the edge of campus. Why would you ever waste your time going to something like that? And who does he think he is insinuating that you’d even want to match with him? Anyway, you only have one good black dress and you’re sure it doesn’t even fit anymore. It isn’t even worth trying…is it?

“I’m telling you, this girl’s gorgeous and she’s super smart too. She knows everything about books and stuff, like, you can ask her anything and she just knows” Mingi rambles, grabbing another beer from the fridge. 

“Because it’s her job” Yunho teases, leaning against the kitchen counter. 

Mingi pops the beer open, flicking the metal top into a nearby trash can, “And how did she get that job? Because she’s smart.”

“You know, I don’t think I’ve seen him like this over a girl…ever” Jongho says, stealing Mingi’s beer for himself.

“Well I think it’s cute. Mingi’s got a girlfriend” Wooyoung sings, making cute little hearts with his fingers.

“She’d be his girlfriend if she didn’t hate his guts” Yunho mumbles half heartedly. 

Mingi gasps, taking offense to that, “She doesn’t hate me, she just hasn’t fully warmed up to me yet but she will.”

He looks around the kitchen and his friends all eye him skeptically. Mingi didn’t say that with nearly enough confidence for them to believe him and the truth is that he barely believes himself but how does he tell his friends that? He’s the one who girls drool over. He’s never the one doing the drooling. He has a reputation at stake and here he is ruining it for a girl who probably won’t even show up tonight. But he can’t bring himself to give up on you yet. 

That first night after he met you he couldn’t get you out of his head. He kept imagining that face, that body, under him, on top of him, next to him. Just the thought of you made him hard enough that touching himself was mandatory to ease his need for you. And the more he showed up to bug you the more fascinating he came to find you.

Yes, you were snippy but never enough to directly chase him away. You let him stick around long enough for glimmers of your true personality to show. You’d made the terrible mistake of showing him how sweet you could be, how funny of a girl you are, and it only made things worse for both of you. More than having sex with you he wants to kiss you and hold your hand. He wants to tell you how pretty you are and not have you threaten him with a blunt object for it. 

“Not to be that guy but when did you start liking…ya know?” Jongho says, hoping that the others will know what he means without it coming off rude.

“Chubby girls?” Wooyoung asks, making Yunho almost choke on his beer. 

“You can’t just say that” Yunho coughs, grabbing a paper towel to wipe the beer from his lips. 

Mingi’s eyes narrow, the question not quite setting right with him, “What does it matter?” 

“I mean, it…it doesn’t. I swear it doesn’t” Jongho stammers, looking anywhere but at Mingi. 

Wooyoung shrugs, coming to Jongho’s rescue, “In his defense, we’ve never seen you with one. She’s not your usual type.”

“So, what? Just cause she’s not my ‘type’ it has to be weird?” Mingi presses. 

No one says anything, not a solitary word. They only stare at the doorway, their faces drained of any color. In the next room a party rages, in the kitchen an argument is ready to erupt, and there you stand in between the two hearing something you shouldn’t have at a time you shouldn’t have heard it. 

“Hmm, well, thank you for that. I’m so happy everyone knows what I already did” you say, laughing to avoid tears, “Thank you for the invite, Mingi. Really.” 

Something’s said, you’re sure it’s by Mingi, but you can’t hear it. You’ve gone numb to everything. Even the music blaring from the speakers a few feet from you feels like it’s playing from miles away. Desperate to outrun the tears stinging the corners of your eyes, you rush through the crowd of partiers in the living room and make your way outside.

The autumn air blows against your cheeks, cooling your tears as they begin to escape. You wipe them away, doing your best to look normal as you pass people headed into the party, but you can’t seem to stop them from falling. You feel so stupid for ever believing that Mingi’s feelings for you were anything but a joke he could laugh about with his friends. His words ring in your ears as you approach your car, frantically digging through your purse for your keys. Not his type? Well he isn’t yours either. You’ve never been too fond of assholes anyway. 

“Shit” you hiss, the keys in your hand tumbling from your grasp the second you pull them out. You bend down to pick them up but someone snatches them away before you can. You spin around to find Mingi standing there, your keys jingling away as they twirl around his fingers. 

“Give them back” you demand, grabbing for your keys but he holds them up high just out of your reach. 

“You’re crying” he says and you can almost see his heart shatter, “Come back inside.”

“Why? So you and your friends can make fun of me to my face this time?” you ask, still fighting for your keys back but to no avail. 

Mingi frowns, “Make fun of you? We weren’t making fun of you. I’d never let anyone do that to you.” 

“So, what? Just cause she’s not my type it has to be weird?” you mock, feeling childish but justified considering the circumstances. 

“I didn’t mean it like that. I only meant that just because I’ve dated smaller girls that doesn’t mean I can’t like you and I do. I really, really like you” he swears, “I love your body. I think it’s beautiful. Everything about you…I’m just obsessed with and all I wanna do is show you how special you are but you won’t let me and I don’t understand why.”

Folding your arms across your chest, you stand on the sidewalk staring at Mingi like you hate him but it’s not him that you hate. It’s the fact that you believe him. The tears have slowed now but your cheeks are still wet, black streaks of mascara beginning to run down your face. You drop your head, embarrassed by your mini breakdown, and Mingi swoops in, giving you a chest to lay your head on. His long arms wrap around you, locking behind your back to keep you close. It’s your instinct to pull away but his embrace is too comforting and warm to abandon. 

“If you want me to leave you alone forever I promise I will. I’ll let you go and you’ll never have to see me again” he whispers, “But if you stay I promise I’ll be good to you.” 

Your stomach sinks at the thought of never seeing him again. Day after day all you’ve done is tell him to leave you alone but it never occurred to you how much it’d hurt if he actually did. “I don’t want you to leave me alone” you admit, your face emerging from the black abyss of his shirt, “That’s, like, the exact opposite of what I want you to do.”

Mingi cups your face, his thumb stroking the curve of your cheek, “Good because I wasn’t actually gonna leave you alone. How can I when you look like this? You’re even a pretty crier. How’s that possible?”

You’ve always managed not to blush when Mingi’s said things like this—at least not when he’s around—but you don’t stop yourself this time. You don’t even make the tiniest attempt at hiding how utterly giddy you are over his comments. 

“Ooh, is that a smile I see?” he gasps, immediately making you regret it. You motion to hit him in the arm but he grabs you by the wrist, slipping his hand into yours as he leads you back towards the house. “Let’s go upstairs and I’ll clean you up then we can talk more, okay?”

Mingi looks back at you and you could swear that time stands still. This isn’t where you thought you’d be on a Friday night, walking through a frat party hand in hand with one of the most popular guys on campus—with Mingi. He’s guiding you up the stairs, looking at you like you’re the prettiest girl in the world and for the first time, somewhere deep down inside, you’re beginning to feel like it. 

Before you left the house tonight you swore that you wouldn’t become some frat party cliche. Mingi’s hot, there’s no doubt about it, but there was no way you’d wind up bent over some bed with your panties around your ankles.

You were actually right about that. You’re not bent over some bed, you’re laying across it, and your panties aren’t around your ankles, they’re tossed off to the side of the bed, blending in with the pile of black clothing you collectively shed before you found every inch of Mingi’s cock stuffed inside of you. You came up here to talk, that was it, and in your defense you did talk. You were vulnerable with each other, you opened up about your feelings, and the next thing you knew your tongues were so far in each other’s mouths that you could feel it in your throats. 

Mingi’s kiss is sweeter than you imagined. It’s the kind of kiss you could get lost in it. Even now, after he’s been kissing your lips raw for the last half hour, you find yourself wanting more. You’re so wrapped up in him, so completely consumed by the ecstasy of having him inside of you, that you aren’t even focused on the fact that you’re naked. You can’t begin to care if you look good or not when your body’s flush with heat, feeling the best it has in your entire life.

But you do look good. Nothing in Mingi’s wildest dreams could compare to how beautiful your body actually is. His hands explore your curves, discovering those spots he knows will come to be his favorites. That squishy belly of yours that pokes out just a bit more when he massages your sides. Those pillowy thighs that seem even thicker when he presses them to your chest. Those breasts that bounce softly against his face while he’s sucking at your bud.

“You’re so fucking amazing, baby” Mingi whispers, licking his way over the hills of your breasts to bring his lips to yours. “I do have a type. You know it’s you, right?”

“Is that so?” you tease, trembling at every stroke of his cock between the slickness of your walls. You run your fingers through his hair, your back arching against the mattress so much that you’re sure you’d float away if the weight of Mingi’s body weren’t pinning you down.

Mingi kisses you like a starved man whose hunger can only be satisfied by the taste of you. “Mmm, can’t you tell?” he hums between sloppy kisses, “Can’t you feel it?” 

He snaps his hips into you and you let out a moan that makes you grateful for the loud music blaring downstairs. Keeping his lips locked to yours, one hand gripping your hip and the other cradling your face, he thrusts into you harder. Hard enough to make the bed creak. Hard enough to make your walls clench tighter. Hard enough to have you tugging his hair, moaning between his lips while your decadent juices drip down his length.

Mingi groans, holding you even tighter as the head of his cock rides the ridges of your sweet spot. Your insides are so spongy and wet, clenching around him just right. There’s no way he can go back to masturbating after this. The thought of you won’t be enough. Fantasies are absolutely nothing compared to what it’s like to truly feel you under him and around him. 

“Mingi, mmm, gonna cum” you whimper, your eyes wide and glossy as you look up at him. 

You sound so cute when you say it that he loses his sanity for a second, his hips stuttering before picking up the rhythm again. Mingi slips both hands behind your neck, deepening the kiss as he bottoms out completely. Heat pools behind your belly, spreading through your body until you’re sure flames are dancing at your fingertips. Your body tenses, a weak little moan falling from your lips before your vision goes blurry and your high washes over you. 

“That’s it, good girl” Mingi coos, basking in the warmth enveloping him, “So pretty when you cum all over my cock. Always so pretty.” 

Your walls are pulsing, fluttering wildly around his swollen cock. Your cum just pours down him, making every movement slippery wet. He can’t take it anymore. He couldn’t hold back even if he tried. 

“Aah, fuck” he hisses, pulling out of you just in time to paint your inner thighs in white, leaving ropes of cum dripping dangerously close to your core. 

Completely destroyed by your orgasm, you’re plastered to the bed and can only watch as Mingi catches his breath, immediately going to work planting kisses all over your body. He kisses the places you love and the places you hate. He worships them all with his lips because to him they’re perfect in every way.

You surrender yourself to the reality of that, letting the lingering adoration from each kiss sink into your skin. Mingi’s yours, he has been since he first laid eyes on you in that library, all you ever had to do was let yourself have him.